


Bebop Redemption

by ShadowcrestNightingale



Series: Darkwave Chronicles [10]
Category: Cowboy Bebop (Anime)
Genre: Corruption, Crimes & Criminals, Crisis, Escape, Gen, Government Corruption, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Juvenile Detention, Mischief, Mystery, Police Brutality, Prison, pit fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 39
Words: 104,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22439923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowcrestNightingale/pseuds/ShadowcrestNightingale
Summary: The Bebop crew find themselves on the wrong side of the bars. Now it's a race to recall what they don't know they know, and reunite to save the day. As clearly someone wants them out of the way so they can't crash a party. L&V
Series: Darkwave Chronicles [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/854244
Comments: 92
Kudos: 32





	1. Session 1

**Author's Note:**

> My Cowboy Bebop works tend to link to one another in a unified string of events. This one is no exception. As well as drawing from the series canon, this work will tie very closely to the one that immediately proceeded it, “Alley Cat Shuffle”, hints were seeded as that one was written. It is not critical to have read it, but you might get more, as well as some easter eggs, if you have. Some of my other works referenced in this will be “Acid Rock Riot” which was where the Six Pack came from. ;) “Dead Star Shine”, the first post-anime work explaining where Spike went after the end of the series and how the crew reunited. Tidbits from “Dragons of the Darkwave 1 and 2” detailing Spike's syndicate days. And I'm pretty sure the events from “Bloody Eyed Tango” are bound to come up in the mix. If you want a series chronological list of my fics I have that available on my profile with quick summaries. If something not in the show gets mentioned in my works, chances are it's been detailed in one of my other ones. If you're ever wondering—feel free to ask. Now, without further ado … the story!

_ **** _

_ **Session 1** _

Gunter Keller clung to his phone, his hand shook as he waited for the video-less phone call to go through. Too many rings. Was something wrong? He glanced out the home office door, open just a crack. His wife Sarah still out on an errand. This was cutting things too closely for comfort. Why did it have to be today, of all days? He'd had to scramble for a reason to get her out of the house. Sweat dripped down his forehead, until at last a cold voice answered.

“ _Is it done?”_

Thank his stars, Gunter wiped his brow. “Yes, Sir. The bounties have been officially posted. The funds laundered through enough transfers that no one will ever know the origin.”

“ _Good. Are you certain the charges will stick?”_

“My info broker was very thorough, and paid well enough.” He stared at the screen where the images now displayed as active rewards. Everything looked exactly as he had filed it. “And I made certain to send advanced copies through a blind out to a few bounty hunters crazy enough to try their luck. I'm telling you, if our marks catch wind of this I'm convinced we'd never find where they'd go to ground. Either that, or we wouldn't live long enough to regret triggering this. And that's what worries me—”

“ _Relax, Keller, I'll make it worth your while. Once they are in custody my half of our deal will go into effect.”_

The arms dealer tugged on his own collar. “I really need this contract. If this deal goes sour, or if they ever find out I'm involved … you don't understand, I'm a dead man!”

Laughter, cold and calm. _“If you did your job well enough, there is nothing to fear. You and I will both get what we need and no one will ever be the wiser. That was the whole point of this charade.”_

“I hope you're right.” Keller hesitated, not even knowing the name on the other end of the line. “I'll let you know when the bounties are collected.”

“ _Excellent. Nice doing business with you, Mr. Keller. I look forward to the delivery once everything is finalized.”_

The line went dead. Gunter rested his forehead in the palm of his hand. If this didn't work, he'd just painted a big-ass target on his head.

_Two birds with one stone,_ the voice had said when this whole plan dropped into his lap. Was it really worth the insane risk?

A moment later the front door opened. Sarah's voice called out, “Darling, the store was out of fresh Europa yellow fin. Something about the ports still being locked down because of that Europa Pox Virus threat? Anyway, I had to go with the freeze dried fillets for dinner. Hope that's all right.”

Fixing a confident smile on his face, Gunter strode out of the office. “I doubt we'll notice the difference, love.”

* * *

The setting sun washed Ganymede's bay in brilliant colors. All of it framed by the windows of the Sandy Point Super Club. Oh this place was amazingly swanky from the ironed table cloths to the fabric napkins folded into fancy shapes. Heck, there were even fresh floral arrangement center pieces on each table. This was nothing like an evening at the Loser Bar on Mars where shoes stuck to the floor and peanut shells littered the counter.

In these extravagant halls, in the exclusive reservation-only room, the crew of the _Bebop_ hardly seemed to fit in despite the more fancy clothes Faye had talked them into. Well, it was her treat, out of her cut of the bounty from the _Golden Calf_ -capades, as Spike dubbed the recent fiasco. Tonight they celebrated the full repair of the _Bebop_ , with some funds left over. The ship currently sat docked in the bay, locked up snug, since they had fully stocked the holds. And this fancy first-class dinner was the treat before they hit the stars to hunt again. Faye wore a satin evening gown in emerald green. Jet had his suit on. Spike wore the white tuxedo he had practically lived in during the entire star-cruise. Though he wasn't fond of the outfit, he had been forced to admit he cleaned up well in it. Ed, though devoid of shoes, wore the bright colored dress that had been made for her by Faye's special designer. And even Ein had gotten into the act with his bow tie. He sat with his paws on the table drinking sparkling water from an ornate soup bowl.

Spike set his red wine glass down and shook his head at the mutt. “What you can get away with if you flash a big enough wad of cash.”

Faye narrowed her eyes over her wine glass rim. “Surprising, isn't it? Remind me, Spike, what we discussed on the ship?”

“Relax.” He spread his hands. “This time I honestly left _everything_ back on the ship. I got the message. No guns, no blades. All I have is my lighter and a pack, your majesty.”

“This was an expensive reservation. I don't want to get thrown out.”

Jet chuckled. “They let Ein in. I think we're good.”

She turned her eyes on him. “You better not be packing heat either.”

He unbuttoned his jacket and held it open. Nothing but his vest.

“Good, you'd think I was taking a bunch of barbarians to dinner.”

Standing on her chair, Ed peered toward the kitchen. “Where is our food? Ed is hungry!”

Faye held up a hand. “Good food takes time.”

Leaning his elbow on the table, Spike muttered, “And fancy food takes even longer for a tiny amount of it. Hey, as long as my steak gets here before it's cold, I'll be happy.”

Faye knocked his elbow off the table. “Mind your manners.”

As he offered her a grunt the waitress opened the door and walked out with a loaded tray. She smiled as she set down each plate. Spike's steak smothered in melted cheese. Faye's plate of assorted sushi in their tiny little packages. Jet's lobster and shrimp combo platter. Ed's stuffed pasta drowning in tomato sauce, she clapped her hands with glee. And for Ein, a freshly grilled burger patty with mushrooms.

Eagerly they all dug in, manners left far behind them. Halfway through the meal, the waitress returned with a tray of drink refills. A glass of grape juice for Ed, more sparkling water to refresh Ein's bowl, and fresh glasses of wine for the adults. She offered a wink at Spike as she set his down, “I poured this special vintage just for you, tenderloin,” taking the old glasses with her.

“Nice service.” Spike picked up the glass and held it out as the waitress went through the door. He took a gulp of the wine and winked back at her.

Faye followed the gaze and scowled. “Seriously? You're gonna make a pass at her?”

“Relax, it means nothing. By tomorrow we'll be in hyperspace.”

She still grumbled, lifting her glass with the classic style and taking a sip of wine. “You're back to sawing your meat like a common thug.”

“So?” He grinned, making it worse on purpose.

Ed giggled, almost snorting juice out her nose as she drank.

Faye took a larger gulp of her wine, rolling her eyes. “I can't take you guys anywhere!”

Jet leaned over and whispered into Spike's ear, “Some first class meal, the shrimp aren't even cooked.”

“Eh, well, it's gotta be better than if I had tried to cook it.” Spike lifted his glass. “Bottoms up, pard!”

The two clinked glasses and downed their wine.

Finished scarfing down his burger, Ein lapped up the rest of the sparkling water and hiccuped before emitting a little belch. That earned him a glare-a-la-Faye. But he simply yawned and rested his head in his paws on the table edge. The picture of contentment.

“Hey Faye,” Spike pointed, “is there a rule about dog paws on the table?”

She glanced over, but Ed was between her and the slumbering corgi. “Yes. It's bad manners. Ed?”

Her own plate and glass empty, Ed patted her tummy. Sleepy eyes turning up to Faye. Well that was nothing new. After all, Ed had three modes: hyper, eating, and sleeping. There seemed to be nothing in-between.

“Help Ein out. Paws off the table.”

Ed reached over and yawned. In the process she laid her head against his and started to snore.

Faye glared at Spike. “She takes after you. The girl can sleep anywhere.”

He flashed a cavalier smile. “It's a skill set.”

Shaking his head, Jet popped another shrimp in his mouth. “One I wish I had, Spike-o. I mean where did you learn how to do that?”

“What?” Spike blinked back at him.

“Sleep like the damn dead anywhere?”

He shrugged and glanced back at Faye, her forehead resting on her arm. “Haha, I think our nanny finally gave up!” Spike lifted his wine glass and tipped it back. Finding it empty, he peered into the upended glass with one eye narrowed.

Jet had to laugh. A moment later, Faye snored. “Aww, shhh, we don't want to wake sleeping beauty. Right?” Feeling a might pleasant, he reached over to slap Spike on the shoulder ...only to find Spike leaning back in his chair a touch too slack. He poked his shoulder.

In slow motion, Spike tipped off to the side and down onto the floor, landing limp on his side. Snoring.

The alarm struck Jet as his grin faded, his nerves awash. The horizon already tilting. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. He tried to stand and his legs buckled, sending him in a heap to the floor.

In a blur the last thing Jet saw against the fancy patterned rug were the waitress's shoes and a pair of white cowboy boots. The waitress laughed, “Anyone want desert? No?”


	2. Session 2

_ **Session 2** _

Pressure dug into his wrists. Drifting in the darkness behind closed eyes, Jet tried to orient himself. He sat upright, leaning back against something hard and cool. His hands behind his back. And the world swam, even if he didn't move. It swam. Taking a breath, he gagged at the odor. This wasn't the rust and oil of the _Bebop_ nor the salty tang of fish-gone-by that sometimes wafted up from her old cargo holds. But it was close to that, only fouler. Much much fouler.

The loud clang of metal colliding with metal cracked his eye open. He winced at the light, dim as it was. His head ached miserably. Stomach felt like someone had stuffed an angry cat inside him and beat it with a stick from the outside. He huffed a few breaths fighting back the acidic bile burning his throat. _Hold it in. Whatever happened, it'll pass._

The clack of shoes on the floor coaxed his eyes up. Slow to focus he discovered a wall of bars. On the other side a guard in an ISSP uniform stood beside two figures. One looked vaguely like that cute waitress, only she was in a leather jacket and pants now. Beside her … he blinked in disbelief, attempted to rub his eyes only to discover his hands were cuffed to a railing bolted into the wall.

_A holding cell?_ The number spray painted on the wall told him they were still on Ganymede. They? Where were the others? Off to his left he found Spike, keeling forward, the cuffs on his wrists holding him on the bench rather than allowing him to face plant on the floor. Out cold, his complexion was as green as his hair. On his left, Faye sat limp against the wall, eyes shut and breathing deep. Ed lay wedged on the bench corner, drool coming from her open mouth. On the floor, a pair of cuffs tethered a snoring Ein by his collar to the bench leg. All of them still in their attire, however any pocket had been emptied and turned out.

Jet blinked up at the second figure. The man with bright blonde hair tipped his cowboy hat and flashed a toothy grinned. An all too familiar grin! Jet leaned as far forward as he could in the restraints. “Andy?”

“Well, howdy there!”

“What are you doing?”

He flashed a grin. “Performing a round-up. Received a special invitation and I just had to come out of retirement. My gal, Sweet Sue here, thought it might be an evening of fun. And boy it sure was.”

Jet's head throbbed even more. Had he heard him right? The waitress? Andy's gal? But sure enough, she turned and winked at Jet before planting a huge kiss on Andy's lips.

The next moment, the ISSP officer held out the woolong transfer card. “Here you fine folks go. Rewards are transferred. We'll take it from here.”

Andy waved a hand at Jet. “Nice crossing paths with you again, cowpoke... or should I say ex-cowpokes. Thanks for the adventure!”

Sweet Sue hung off his arm. “And you were worried that fuzzyhead would wake up. I told you, Son of a Gun, I put twice the amount of sedative in his wine as the others, just to be sure. And see? He's still sleeping like a baby.”

“Always thinkin' ahead. That's why I love you, Sweet-chaps!” The door buzzed open and shut as they left the holding block.

_Sleeping like a baby?_ Spike hardly appeared to be infant like as he looked. Jet jerked at the end of the restraining cuffs. “Wait a minute … what the heck … did Andy _really_ just bring us in?”

The officer leaned on the bars, chewing on a toothpick. “You a little slow on the draw, gramps. Yup. That was one big score, too. Heh heh. Record time. The bounty'd only been posted four hours ago. And here you all are,” he eyed Ein, “plus one. Not sure what we'll do with that mutt. This is a new one.”

“Whoa, back up a bit. We've been arrested? For what? This has to be a mistake. We're the good guys.”

Throwing back his head laughing, the officer moved off. “Tell that to the judge, see how far it gets ya.”

Jet struggled in the cuffs. “Hold on a second. At least un-cuff us.”

The door buzzed open and shut leaving them essentially alone. Jet hung his head in frustration.

Faye groaned and flopped away from the wall, staring at the floor for a long moment before she looked around, wide-eyed. “What the—?”

“We're in jail.”

“Where?”

“Ganymede, just a holding cell for now.”

“Why?”

“No idea.”

“Gah, this place is disgusting! Is that blood on the floor? Don't they ever clean it?”

His head throbbed with every word reverberating off the walls.

“My wrists hurt in these cuffs.”

He couldn't even blame her for whining about that. After all, his wrist, the one he could feel, pinched too.

A low moan caught his attention, followed by a rather juicy rumble. Spike's eyes cracked open, his head hung like a rag dolls for one brief moment. Then the silence broke as a torrent projected out onto the floor with what Jet likened to a fire hose.

Faye retreated pulling her heeled shoes from the foul mixture, largely discolored by red wine, but that wasn't all that came back up. Had Spike really had that much to eat and drink, or did it just look unbelievable spreading out onto the floor?

Once the spasms finished, Spike's half closed eyes stared sightlessly at the floor. His skin a pasty shade of green. Every breath a slow deep gasp, clearly just barely holding it together.

Timidly, Faye touched her shoulder to his. “You ok?”

Spike first attempt to speak faltered as he visibly fought another wave. Once he could open his eyes, he rasped out, “I am _**never**_ drinking red wine again.” Two breaths later, the next round splattered on the floor.

Jet cringed, wishing they could do something. But cuffed on the bench, all he could do was watch.

Shaking, Spike blinked slowly. “Feel like shit … like after lights out … after surgery or something … what the fuck's going on?”

Weighing the facts, Jet chose them carefully. If his head hurt from this, he couldn't imagine how bad Spike felt. “Someone got the drop on us, pard. Slipped sedative in our drinks to collect on our bounties.”

Faye sat up a little straighter. “Sedative? How do you know?”

“Heard some talk. They nailed Spike with twice the dose to make sure he wasn't any trouble.”

Spike swallowed down a belch and closed his eyes. “That explains a lot. Shit this sucks.”

“We're in jail at the moment.” Jet cocked his head. “I would've put money on a stronger reaction from you.”

He rolled bloodshot eyes up at Jet and delivered a weary glare. “My guts are turning inside out. How much more do you really want to see?” Lowering his head he gulped down air.

Faye gave Jet a worried glance. He shook his head. No one else within sight, they were forced to wait.

Without a clock, Jet had no idea how much time had passed. By now Spike had leaned back against the wall in a rather uneasy sleep. The occasional retching fit proof he hadn't gotten it all out of his system. When the door buzzed open to the corridor. Jet glanced up to see a familiar face. “Donnelly!”

With a start, Donnelly came to the bars, tugging his hat back. “Damn, should I believe my eyes? I thought it was just a rumor. Jet Black on the other side of the bars?”

Tugging at the cuffs, Jet beseeched him, “Buddy, I'm a bit confused as to what the hell is going on. Can you clue me in here?”

He glanced back at the corridor and his shoulders sagged. “Don't know the whole story. But I can see what I can find out. So far I just know that the bounty was legit. It cleared, which means you guys are in trouble. That was quite a payout.”

“By who?”

“You know that kind of info is rarely available. Nobody in the system cares, so long as the woolongs clear. Then its up to the courts as to what happens.”

Glancing at Spike as he shifted, his breathing hitching in that strange warning, Jet threw a pitiful look at Donnelly. “Buddy, at least uncuff us.”

Donnelly winced. “You know the rules, not til after processing.”

Jet heaved a sigh. “Come on. At least let my partner lie down. They seriously drugged him.”

Staring at the mess on the floor, he rubbed the back of his neck. “You gotta swear to me that none of you will cause any trouble.”

Faye gave a sympathetic glance at Spike. “Well, that _would_ have been from him, and I don't think he'll be up too much til his color returns to human.”

Donnelly opened the barred door and with the key on his belt unlocked the cuffs, pocketing each set. Ed didn't even wake up. She just curled into a ball, and rested her head in her arms. No one ran for the door. The moment Spike could, he crawled onto his side and laid down, clutching his stomach in misery. To Jet's shock, Faye reached down and rubbed his back, concern in her eyes.

With a sigh, Donnelly headed back out and secured the barred door behind him. He stared through, locking eyes with Jet. “Give me a few, I'll see what I can find out. In the meantime, I mean it. Don't get me in trouble.”

Jet offered a sad smile as the corridor door buzzed open and shut.

Faye whispered, “Take it easy, Spike. This should pass soon.”

His eyes closed. “If I ever find out who did this … I'm gonna kick their ass!”

Jet rested his head in the palm of his hand, debating whether or not to tease fate as he imagined what Spike would do to Andy.


	3. Session 3

_ **Session3** _

“Oh Jet, are you guys in trouble.” From the other side of the bars, Donnelly shook his head.

Hours had passed since his last visit, and by now each of the Bebop crew had been paraded out, processed, and returned to holding. Their clothing had been confiscated, even Ein's bow tie, and they'd been given bright orange jumpsuits. It had not escaped Jet's attention that Spike's session had taken longer. When his partner returned and he inquired, the guard answered for him, “We can't have a mug shot of him flipping the bird.” Spike had only smirked, his complexion revealing he was still not feeling the greatest. He'd situated himself in the corner and promptly fallen asleep. Ed had hardly been bothered by this mess and was currently holding a snoozing Ein in her lap as she napped against Spike.

Jet envied them as he glanced at Faye, a scowl on her face ever since she had returned to the cell. She sat hugging herself at the other end of the bench, one comment away from going full nuclear.

“Talk to me, Donnelly. How bad is it?”

He pushed his hat back. “If I don't summarize it, I'll miss my break. So here it is. First there is Faye over there, who has a number of illegal gambling charges as well as unpaid debts. We'll just say it amounts to grand larceny.”

Jet eyed her. So she hadn't used the influx of cash to clear her debt. Typical.

“More critical is your partner Spike, they got him an a whole barrage of charges including murder and arson. The most recent is breaking out of prison.”

Jet shook his head. “That won't stick. He was released.”

Donnelly pointed to Ed. “Yeah, by Radical Edward. They found the electronic trail when a tip prompted them to look. Who, by the way, is wanted for a number of hacking cases throughout the system, including government servers. Sorry Jet, but they got her hallmarks all over it.”

“You have to understand—”

He shook his head. “I never thought I would see this. But what it all entails is that you, the Black Dog, aided a felon in escaping prison and harbored not one, but three fugitives of the law on your ship.”

His jaw hung slack. “But … but … Donnelly. They were bounty hunters, registered like me. Well, not the kid, yet. She was too young. But still!”

“How do you think they held those registrations if not for that kid? You know she did it. Even if you didn't ask her to directly, you know she was the one to bury the records.”

Pounding his fist against the bars, Jet shouted, “This is all a bunch of bullshit! Besides, look what Spike and Faye did not long ago on the cruise ship. Think of all the bounties we've brought in over the years. There has to be something we can do to clear this up.”

Donnelly raised a shoulder and let it fall. “You're up against the line-up wall. The only chance you have is the courtroom. As I hear it, your assigned defense attorney just arrived and is getting situated to start the interviews. All I can say is, good luck. I gotta get back to work before they miss me.”

Jet rubbed the back of his neck. “Thanks, I guess.” He flopped down on the bench and sighed. “Quite a mess we're in this time.”

The sound of the door unlocking caught his attention. A guard stood there. “Ms. Valentine. Come with me please.”

She stood and sauntered across the cell. “Anything to be out of this place. At least someone finally cleaned up the damn floor.” Her voice dwindled as they passed down the corridor toward the interrogation room.

Jet leaned back. Spike's eye cracked open. “So uhhh, Spike, how does this part go?”

He shrugged, and glanced down to find the kid and dog trapping his side. “Wouldn't know. Remember I woke up on Pluto. They sorta skipped this part.”

“That's right.”

“Besides, wouldn't you know more about this?”

Jet mused for a moment, his shoulders falling. “Not much. Save one thing. The only way out of this is to be honest.”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that, pard?”

“Much as I can be. At least with the lawyer.”

“Alright.”

* * *

Faye sat at the metal table, her arms across her chest. A firm scowl on her face. On the other side a nervous looking man who seemed to be suffering from cold sweats attempted to flip through the files as he visibly fought his shaking hands.

Their lawyer, Mr. Everett Shimmelsby.

He hadn't said a word to her and yet he had already sweated through his ill-fitted suit jacket.

“Are we going to get this started? I'd like to get out of this ridiculous jumpsuit and back into something more befitting a woman of my refinement.”

He glanced up and adjusted his glasses as he swallowed. “Well, umm, you see Ms. Valentine, I just am trying to sort out the details of your charges. It uhh seems that there are a number of individuals who have lost money to you.”

She studied her fingernails and eyed him sideways. “Yes. But it's not as though I held a gun to their heads.”

He glanced at the screen and then back up with a bead of sweat down his brow. “Mr. Ashbury?”

She smiled and laughed. “Oh wait, yes, him. Well that was a special circumstance. He did ask for it.”

“If you don't mind my asking … how?”

She leaned forward over the table, gaining height on the weasly little man who sunk down before her. “He failed to honor his bet, so I gave him a little persuasion to complete our transaction. It was pure business.”

Shimmelsby sunk further in the chair as he listed five more names.

Faye's hackles rose. “Do you really want to know what I think of men?”

Color drained straight out of Shimmelsby.

* * *

Jet sat down at the metal table. On the other side Everett Shimmelsby looked as though he'd been in a cage match with a tigress. The poor men was disheveled, sweated clear through his clothing, tie pulled down past the collarbone. His eyes wide as he panted each breath.

“I ehhh, Jet Black, I presume?”

Jet nodded and forced a smile. This man was on their side.

“The captain of the _Bebop_ and a retired ISSP detective.” He ran through the files and glanced up. “So what compelled you to make and harbor fugitives?”

Harder than he wanted, Jet planted his fists on the table. “My crew are not fugitives!”

Shimmelsby hid behind his chair, peering through the slats. “They have warrants. There are cases, open ones … ”

“An open case has not gone to trial! They are innocent. Besides this system is so corrupt. Anyone can file an arrest warrant with enough money.”

“But sir, you yourself walked into prison posing as an active officer and aided in the illegal release of a prisoner.”

Jet's metal fist dented the table. “A prisoner who never stood trial!”

Shimmelsby whimpered, hands over his head. “And you used a child to hack and purge the records … are these the acts of an honorable man?”

“I'll show you an honorable man!”

* * *

Ed sat in the chair, swaying back and forth with a smile on her face. On the other side Shimmelsby sat rigid, only his eyes following her.

“Radical Edward?”

“Yes.” She pipped up. “You can call me Ed.”

“Ok … Ed. I wasn't expecting … ” Shimmelsby stopped and cocked his head. He didn't finish the sentence. “Ed, you like computers.”

“Uh huh. Ed is a net-diver and also a hacker. Ed is very good at what she does and that's how we nab the bad guys.”

“Bad guys?”

“Yessss! When Jet wants to find someone for money he asks Ed to look for them. Ed finds them and then we go pew pew, and the nasty people surrender. We bring them in for money so Faye can feed the ponies and Spike can pay for all the stuff he broke.”

Shimmelsby flinched at Jet's name. “Did they … did they ever ask you to change things? You know, records and stuff?”

Ed giggled. “All the time. And sometimes Ed just does it for fun. Like this one time … ”

His eyes widened as the crazy train ran off the rails.

* * *

Spike leaned back in the chair, a brooding glare in his eyes. He was so done with this shit and it hadn't even started yet. His head still ached from the sedative and the last he wanted to do was talk to some lackey in a cheap suit. Spike's nose wrinkled, he could smell the stink of fear on this guy as he leaned back, increasing the distance between them as he scrolled though the file on the screen. Spike had to wonder how close the guy was to bolting for the walls.

Still, he did nothing more than sit there and glare. It brought back memories of his days as an interrogator.

“Mr. … uh … Mr. Spiegel.” Shimmelsby began a few octaves higher in register. “I'm your … your case lawyer. And let's just get started shall we?”

Spike took a deep breath.

At that one motion, Shimmelsby flinched. He realized it and tried to cover it with a laugh. “It's been a long day, and … ”

“It sure has.” Spike let the gravel enter his voice. The effect stirred up an even wilder reaction in the lawyer. More sweat soaked him.

Shimmelsby loosened his necktie, pulling the knot all the way undone in the process and swallowed, glancing at the locked door. “Mr. Spiegel … the charges say you were once an enforcer for the Red Dragons. I'll need to know details, anything you can tell me will help me lay out the case.”

_Well, Jet said to be honest …_ Spike leaned forward, “Hope you didn't eat breakfast, slick.”

* * *

Jet leaned against the bars. It had been quite some time since they had taken Spike down for the questioning. On this side of the bars he could not compel any response from his once co-workers. No surprise.

About to push off from the bars and go sit down, a door opened down the corridor. The shuffle of feet. Two guards carried Shimmelsby, the lawyer pale and out cold, dripping with sweat. The door buzzed and they passed through.

A few minutes later another guard walked Spike into the cell and scowled at him, locking the door behind.

Nonchalantly, Spike took his place back in the corner of the bench, eyes half-lidded.

Jet blinked, trying to reconcile what could have happened. “Spike … you didn't … ”

“What?”

“Lay a hand on him!”

He smirked. “Of course not, I'm not that stupid.”

Even Faye was glancing his way. “Why did the guy come out of there staring at his own eyelids?”

He shrugged, settling his hands behind his head. “Beats me. I only did what Jet told us.”

Everyone was silent, staring at Spike.

He closed his eyes. “I was _completely_ honest.”

Jet threw his head back, slapping his forehead. “Oh shit!”


	4. Session 4

_ **Session 4** _

Jet stared down at the shackles on his wrists. How had they come to this? Paraded from the holding cell surrounded by guards like common criminals, he was followed by Faye and Ed, both cuffed like he was. A guard held a dog carrier with Ein in it. The poor pup's nose pressed against the door. Jet knew they were headed to the court room.

But where was their lawyer?

“Hey, I already told you this shit wasn't necessary!” Spike's irate rebuke was easy to understand.

Jet paused and turned, bringing up the rear, Spike glared at the cop who had pressed himself against the wall with his hand on his holstered gun. The nervous fools had clearly assessed Jet's partner as a volatile threat. Unlike he and girls, who just had wrist restraints, they had cuffed Spike's wrists to a belt so he couldn't move much, in addition to a set of ankle shackles with a chain linked up to the belt. Every hitched step clanked and his ire only grew as the cops had over-tightened them to the point of pinching. Spike had already been irritable, though he'd been trying to conceal it beneath his usual careless facade. This was an illusion Jet saw through, and he hardly faulted the guy. Spike had survived the inside of a prison before, and not come out of it particularly healthy. He had the most to accurate idea of what was coming down the line. To be honest, he had handled the last days far better than Jet had feared he would.

With a sigh Jet turned and hoped they'd make it to the courtroom without a scuffle.

Spike grumbled, “Knock it off, chickenshit! I'm not going to hit anyone.”

The cop's tight voice wavered, “S'not what your record shows.”

“How big of an idiot do you take me for?”

Jet's breath froze in his chest, _Don't anyone answer that, especially not Faye_. Luckily for Spike they entered the courtroom and the cop didn't get a chance to respond. Releasing his breath, Jet followed the gesture of the bailiff into the row of wooden seats behind a table. The guard holding Ein's padlocked kennel placed it on the table.

A smartly dressed man adjusted his tie on the other side of the room. Jet did a double take as he realized there was an empty seat on their side.

“All rise.” The bailiff called out bringing the packed courtroom to their feet. “The honorable Judge Lynchworthy presiding.”

Standing up, shoulder to shoulder with Faye to his left, Jet sweated bullets. Where the hell was their lawyer?

The judge, a middle-aged women with a permanent scowl stamped on her face, took her seat up on the bench and nudged her squared off lenses up onto the bridge of her nose. She reminded Jet of a librarian with a permanent hemorrhoid condition. In a deep voice she read out, “Commonwealth vs the crew of the _Bebop_ , hrm this is too much, let's summarize—in regards to various crimes.” She shook her head and dropped the document. “Let's just get on with this fracas. Is the prosecution ready?”

The lawyer offered a bright smile. “Mr. Ajax Breeze. I am ready, your honor.”

She turned to their table. “Is the defense ready?”

Jet's jaw hung open. He stared at the empty chair, his mind racing and tripping for a reply. His cuffed hands gestured at the chair.

To his shock, Spike blurted out, “Not that I have experience with this, but I don't think this is how it's supposed to work. We're kinda shy a lawyer.”

The judge fixed Spike with the most acidic expression Jet had ever seen. Spike simply stared back up at her with half-lidded eyes. After a moment he flapped a hand as far as he could in the restraint. “I want to complain about the overreaction here. I've been nothing but cooperative. What is this shit?”

Ed chuckled into her hands while Faye rolled her eyes.

Jet clenched his teeth and hissed, “Shut up and let me handle this!” His heart thundered in his ears. What the hell were they going to do? He knew about being a detective, and how corrupt the ISSP had become. But this lawyery bit was beyond his scope. And clearly beyond Spike's, decorum had never been his partner's strong suit. Swallowing his nerves, Jet locked eyes with the stern judge and bleated, “Your honor, our attorney met with us all once and we haven't seen him since.”

With an air of boredom, the judge picked up the document in front of her. “Every case gets one attorney assigned.”

“But, he's not here.”

“Every case gets one attorney assigned.” No more inflection to her voice. “Let's proceed.”

Breeze checked his watch. “We should have this polished off by lunchtime.”

“Excellent,” the judge gestured to him to proceed.

Jet's jaw hung open. Out of the corner of his eye he spied Spike glaring, through clenched teeth he muttered, “If I could cross my arms I would.” He wriggled his hands the minute amount he could. “So Jet, I'll have to settle for, 'I told you this wasn't gonna be fair!'”

“Let me handle this.” Jet eyed him.

Faye raised an eyebrow. “Are you a defense attorney?”

“Not exactly.”

“Great, prison here we come.”

Spike eyed Faye. “You'd be better at this, after all, it is a dog and pony show.”

She clenched her fists, but kept her mouth shut.

Attorney Breeze came before the judge. “Your honor, the crew of the _Bebop_ are comprised of the least law abiding criminals in the system.”

Faye bristled. “Excuse me?”

The judge glared her into silence before turning her attention back to Breeze. He continued smoothly, “I will lay out the evidence, member by member, to demonstrate that they pose a real threat to civilized society.”

“That's not true!” Jet shocked himself to find his own voice calling out. “We have been responsible for bringing many dangerous bounties in. I'm certain you have tried some of their cases yourself!”

A sharp rap of the gavel rang out. “Defense is to be silent until their turn!”

With a grunt, Jet stared at the back of the attorney's head. The man's buttery tone continued onto a list of charges between the crew members that seemed to go on forever. In fact more than once Breeze paused to take a drink from a glass of water. At long last he spread his hands wide, declaring, “By the time I conclude my examination you will find the evidence is damning, your honor. These criminals should not be allowed to go free.” He dismissed himself and returned to his table, taking his seat. Breeze folded his hands in front of himself and offered a smarmy grin at Jet.

The judge gestured to their side and barked, “Defense.”

Jet stood up and looked around the room at the crowd comprised of cops as well as civilians, his mind still reeled at the long list. “Your honor … we plead not guilty.”

Silence stretched on. Uncomfortable as he felt all eyes on him. Jet glanced back and spied Spike with his head bowed, slowly shaking it. He caught the muttering just over his breath, “This can only end one way now.”

The judge peered above her spectacles and raised an eyebrow. “That it?”

Jet shrugged. “Yes? I mean, we're the good guys. Pull our bounty records. See all the cases we've helped solve.”

Breeze stood up and tugged his jacket. “About that, your honor, I will present the collateral damage connected with records Jet Black just mentioned. There is proof that this team does more harm than good.”

Pointing at the prosecution that had just interrupted him, Jet tried to locate the word they always shouted in court cases, but it didn't come to him.

The gavel struck. “Opening concluded. Let's get on with it.”

Breeze waved a hand. “Prosecution calls Faye Valentine to the stand.”

A bailiff grabbed her arm and ushered her to the stand. After being sworn in, she sat with her hands folded in her lap, a cold expression on her face. There was no doubt she detested the unflattering jumpsuit, and now with hundreds of eyes on her, she bore the expression of a child forced to wear uncomfortable dress clothing to a formal event. Of course for Faye the opposite was true. She liked to be dolled up.

Breeze leaned on the stand and smiled at her. “Ms. Valentine, I remind you, you are under oath. Do you have unpaid debts?”

She lifted a shoulder. “Depends on how you define debts.”

“So this is the way you're going to play it.” He pulled out a list and presented it to the judge. “Faye Valentine's financial report. Note, your honor, that Ms. Valentine recently auctioned off a very expensive item and came into a sizable fortune. Yet not a single one of the numerous debts has been touched. In fact, note the recent purchases against her account, and under an alias, no less. Undoubtedly an effort not to be caught with the cash.”

Faye offered a smooth smile. “That alias was essential for a bounty we caught.”

Breeze one-upped her grin and handed the judge another piece of paper. “Here we have the bill from damage to the ship. This alias was also a fraudulent entry into a contest.”

“A contest where a dangerous hacker couple attempted to hijack the ship. The damage came when we had to break our way onto the bridge to stop them! We paid for that door!”

The judge glanced between the two pages. “The amount spent over the course of this … uhhh … hunt was more than sufficient to settle your outstanding debts. Yet you ignored your obligation.”

Her cuffed hands flexed before her. “We saved hundreds of people from getting hijacked and returned valuable data to a research doctor!”

“You left your debts standing.” Judge Lynchworthy eyed her. “Shameful.”

Faye leaned forward and yelled, “If we hadn't been there stopping them, who knows what would have happened. Besides, the Tutfords thanked us in the end.”

“Us?” Breeze raised an eyebrow.

“Spike was with me.”

Breeze gestured to the judge. “Let the court note that Ms. Valentine admitted that Mr. Spiegel was her accomplice.”

Spike smirked at her. “Thanks Faye. Anything else you want to add?”

She hurumphed. “Wait'll you get up here, laughing boy.”

After a lengthy run through Faye's lengthy list of conned victims, Breeze let her off the stand. As far as Jet could see the damage was already done. What next? The attorney pointed at Ed. “Bailiff, bring … uhh … ” He narrowed his eyes at the paper. “Yeah, I'm not even going to try that name.”

Without a complaint, Ed nearly bounced up to the stand, her cuffs rattling as she went.

After swearing her in, Breeze looked at her. “State your name.”

With a flourish she raised her cuffed hands. “Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivruski the IV.”

“Uhhh yah.” Breeze scratched his head. “Were you once known as Radical Edward?”

She giggled. “Of course. They just call me Ed, most of the time.”

“Most of the time?”

“Yup. When Ed does a good job and gets the info they need. Of course sometimes they call Ed a brat.”

Breeze held up a hand, eye opening. “Wait, you said the 'info the needed'. What does that mean?”

Ed rocked back and forth grinning from ear to ear. “Easy. Ed is a net-diver. Ed likes to hack into things which makes it easier to find the bad men _Bebop_ is after. When we catch them and make money it makes Jet happy.”

“Hacking, as in breaking into the systems?”

“Oh yes. Edward is good at breaking passwords. Super secret stuff, like the ISSP, oh, and Ed also likes it when they ask her to poke around the government stuffs. Like cracking an egg. Lots of neat fishies there. Like this one time … ”

Jet's brain short circuited so all he could manage was the sound akin to a strangled cat.

The chains clanked as Spike leaned over and whispered to Jet, “I call dibs on the top bunk.”


	5. Session 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who haven't read my previous works the ending of this session might be a bit surprising. But—for those who have read Acid Rock Riot they'll know precisely where that connection comes from. I have done a lot of character building since the end of the series material. And now … on with the story …

_ **Session 5** _

__

Under the prosecutor's stern gaze Jet held up both hands as he stuttered, “No, you got it all wrong. That's not at all how things went! You see –”

Breeze slashed the air with his hand. “Innocent people were injured in the crossfire as your personal crafts recklessly tore through the city streets. This doesn't even bring into perspective how many buildings sustained damage, and that this was hardly the first time members of the _Bebop_ crew were involved in this excessive level of collateral damage.”

Seated at the table, Spike's restrained fists pumped rattling the chains. His blood boiled as the lawyer sweated Jet on the bench. Spike ground his teeth, barely holding back. They were already in enough trouble. From Ed's cheery account of hacking to Faye's feisty denial on the stand. And that didn't take into account his own train wreck of a turn on the grill. That damn slimy snake barely let him get a word in edgewise, all he'd managed to get out only landed him in glaresville with Judge Lynchworthy. He'd never heard the word _contempt_ used that many times in such a short span.

Breeze shook his head while Jet resembled a gold fish. At last the lawyer turned to the judge and sighed. “I think we can agree that this crew poses more of a threat to society if they are allowed to continue business as usual.”

“Bullshit!” Spike discovered he was on his feet. Shackles or not, he wasn't going to stand for this. “More than once we've saved whole colonies. What about Alba city when the government's little experiment got out of hand? Who cleaned up that mess? We did it thanklessly! After all, instead of being rewarded we were issued a bill for things the army shot to all hell.”

Breeze put his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels. Judge Lynchworthy's expression darkened a second before her gavel struck. “One more word out of you Mr. Spiegel and I will see you sent straight to Pluto on your own express shuttle. Do I make myself clear?”

A cold sweat broke out on Spike's forehead as he choked on thin air, visions of Quidlivun Cavus Prison Colony haunted him so intensely he shivered. Up on the stand, Jet tugged on the collar of his orange jumpsuit.

“Your honor,” Breeze grinned like a cat cornering a mouse, “if I might point out the electronic document issued from Mar's government, exhibit 394. I had hoped it wouldn't come to this but...”

The judge held up the file and eyed Spike. “I am aware of the gag order issued to the crew of the _Bebop_ concerning the events in Alba city.”

Spike bowed his head even as Faye glared at him. He cursed under his breath.

“Thus, your honor, proving they are incapable of following instructions. And given that breaking that order alone has the consequence of imprisonment, I do believe we have a clear cut course of action.”

Faye hissed, “Way to go, lunkhead.”

He didn't press his luck with an acidic reply, instead he just offered her a glare.

Breeze gestured for Jet to join the others before plunking down in his seat, hands behind his head as he leaned back. “Prosecution rests.”

Jet shuffled back to the others and sat beside them, the mood heavy. None of them looked at one another.

Judge Lynchworthy folded her hands. “To be honest I don't even need to recess for my decision. The actions of this crew are deeply deplorable on all levels. Shameful! From outright criminal actions to the active contribution of vagrant behavior in a minor. You three adults are extremely bad role models. I find there is only one course of action. Jet Black, Spike, Spiegel, and Faye Valentine; I hereby sentence you to sixty years each in Ganymede's Bayside Prison.” She locked eyes with Spike as he opened his mouth, her gavel pointed at him. “One. More. Word. Well?”

Spike clamped his mouth shut, his eyes drawn to the floor. The last thing he wanted was a one way trip back to icicleville.

“Good. Now keep it shut.” Not even looking up she waved her hand. “The unlicensed dog will be sent to the municipal pound.” Inside the carrier Ein whimpered and scratched at the sides. “Radical Edward will be sent to Juvenile Detention—”

In one moment Ed's cheery nature faded. Instead of the wriggly, gangely teen, she stiffened. “No!” Since she couldn't separate her cuffed hands, she pointed with both at the others. “No! Edward goes wherever they go!”

Lynchworthy shook her head. “These disreputable adults have been a terrible influence on you. Where you are going, you will be straightened out.”

“They are Ed's family. Ed stays with _Bebop_!” Heat rose to her cheeks as she stomped a foot.

The gavel fell in finality. With its clack, tears streamed down Ed's face and she slammed her shoulder into Spike's thigh, unable to wrap her cuffed arms around him. Her panic struck Spike with the force of the impact.

It wasn't like he could embrace her. Spike started to bend down over the frantic girl when he spied the bailiff rushing their way. Spike bared his teeth, the chain clanking as he strained against it. “Back off! Lay one hand on Ed and I swear, restrained or not, I will find a way to end you!”

Thinking better of it, the bailiff took several steps backward.

Spike crouched down as Ed nestled against his chest. Sobs racked her, reminding him of when her nightmares first began, that fateful night on that abandoned asteroid. Poor kid. He longed to rub her back, to comfort her. Screw anyone watching him. But of course he couldn't. All he had to offer was his voice. “Easy kiddo. Nice sentiment and all. But where we're going … you uhh … you really don't want to go. It's not a place for you.”

Gripping the collar of his jumpsuit she tugged on it, rocking her head back and forth. “I don't care. I'm a member of the crew. We belong together.”

“In some cases … yes.” His throat tightened. “But not this one. Trust me. Where you're going is better.”

“Come with Ed.”

He laughed, a nervous chuckled that shamed him. “Well, that can't happen either.”

“Why not?” She pounded her fists.

He let her. “It just can't. This … this is one of those times where we can't really do anything about what's going on. It sucks big time. But, just like us, you gotta go with it. Cause if we don't, things could get a lot worse. Can you do that? Can you just go with it for now?”

It took a long moment. Ed gradually stopped sobbing. Slowly, she pressed away from his chest and blinked back the tears. Scrunching up her nose, she nodded. “Ok. Ed will go with it for now.” Her eyes narrowed. “And Ed will find where they take you and get you all back again. Ed swears.”

The vehemence in her eyes caught Spike by surprise. For a long moment they just stared at one another until the bailiff stepped forward and took her shoulder, leading Ed out of the court room by one door, determined expression on her face. Another group of officers lead Spike, Jet, and Faye into a different corridor.

As the door shut behind them, Spike closed his eyes and fought against the steely shiver of terror. He had glimpsed life behind bars and never imagined facing that again.

Apparently someone else had other plans. He only hoped Ed could hold out until they could sort out this mess. The crew of the _Bebop_ needed a miracle like never before.


	6. Session 6

_ **Session 6** _

It took every ounce of Spike's self discipline to restrain his raw nerves as the guard tightened the brace around his neck. Laid on a table and strapped down like a sacrifice in some B-horror flick, he forced himself to concentrate on breathing slow and steady even as the guards chatted about some inane program they'd watched last night.

Too late, even if he'd wanted to breaking free struggling was pointless against the metallic clamps. In a way it was better not to have a choice now. Any fuss he made would only make things worse. And he wasn't about to make the mistake of believing things weren't already bad.

Nor that they couldn't get worse.

“Hey Spike?”

Faye's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He'd nearly forgotten he wasn't alone this time. The table to his right held Faye, the one to his left held Jet. And they were all restrained to the point of not being able to move. That didn't count talking, at least. “Yeah?”

“This uh … does this hurt?”

He rolled his eyes and grumbled. “How the hell would I know?”

Jet's voice, the timber slightly higher than normal, joined her inquiry. “Well, pard, you have been through this.”

“I don't know about you, but I don't retain a lot of valuable information while in a coma.”

Jet inhaled sharply. “Sorry, forgot about that part.”

“Trust me, I didn't.” Already Spike's fingers itched for a cigarette. Something to take the damn edge off. But no dice. Especially clamped down to the point of not being able to move.

A guard strode by with a checklist in his hand. “Yup. Yup. And... yup. Alright, prisoners secured. Numbers are in the machines. Let's hit it.”

The machine rumbled to life. Out of the corner of Spike's left eye he watched the robotic arm sweep down and toward the side of his neck. He gritted his teeth knowing damn well what was happening even before the first searing burn of the laser hit, etching the prison bar code onto his skin. Line by line it marred him, and he couldn't move a fraction of inch. Clearly neither could Faye nor Jet. To their credit, neither screamed. Jet grunted a bit, and a stray hiss escaped Faye now and again. Spike only managed to stay silent through his breathing exercises. It didn't mean he wasn't flinching. By the time the neck was done it felt like someone had pressed it into the burner of a stove.

Then the machine moved to his bared forearm and started the procedure all over again. It droned on while the guards sipped cups of coffee and complained about some sports event. Spike didn't catch what it was, nor did he care. The lives of the _Bebop_ crew were being altered. Bad enough when he faced the system. But now … all of them? The holding cell was one thing.

Shit was about to get real.

Feeling like his left arm had been pressed to the _Swordfish's_ engine after a long flight, the machine finished and went back to resting.

A lackadaisical guard wandered by and flashed each tattoo with a handheld monitor. It beeped, he nodded, all six times to complete on Jet's neck tattoo. “Got it.”

Another called from down the hall. “Transport's ready!”

“Right on time. Let's start with #240594126.”

Spike's breath caught in his chest. Already it started, numbers instead of names. Identities stripped to something inhuman. And worst of all … he'd been marked with his old number from Quidlivun Cavus. He couldn't stop the shiver that rippled through him as the chains rattled on the guard's approach.

* * *

Jet grumbled as the guards led he and Faye down the hall toward the transport van in the sealed garage. Their hands had been cuffed behind their backs right at the tattoo table. A quarter hour had passed since they'd taken Spike, rattling chains and all, from the room. He had to admit it, it worried him that Spike might've tried something reckless.

His heart sank with each plodding step through the station. Eyes of officers followed him with gazes he could not meet. What would they be thinking of the Black Dog getting collared like this?

He reached up to brush fingers against the raw skin of the left side of his neck. Marked, literally. His head hung lower. The glint of firearms at the ready did not escape his lowered gaze. To his surprise Faye hadn't uttered a word.

The door of the transport opened and they pushed Jet and Faye in, chaining the cuffs behind their backs to the wall of the van.

For the first time Faye spoke up, “I can't sit back like this. It's not comfortable.”

The guard didn't get a chance to reply before Spike's acidic reply to Faye cut him off. “How do you think I feel?”

Jet and Faye turned to find Spike right behind the driver's wall. His hands cuffed together suspended from an overhead bar. His ankles shackled to the floor panels. Faye blinked and mouthed a reply that didn't become audible at all.

Eyeing the guards seated on either side of him both with guns on their laps aimed at him, Spike snapped. “This is a little overkill.”

They didn't say a word. The doors closed with a double knock on the sidewall. Jostling, the van rolled forward.

Despite himself, Spike yelped and looked up forlornly. “My hands are already going numb!”

* * *

The processing room for Ganymede's Bayside Prison was claustrophobic inducing, and locked down tight. One more moment that Spike did not recall from his shipping out to Quidlivun Cavus on Pluto. He didn't regret that for a moment. His first memory of that wretched ice box was waking up in their barely existent sick bay brought out of a medically induced coma. Confused, sore as hell, and on the verge of his guts turning inside out for lack of substances to throw up, they were memories he preferred not to dwell on.

Still, surround by armed guards he stood dressed in a similar dark blue jumpsuit, the same damn prison ID printed on the stripe. Outside he forced that half-lidded, chill as a night on Callisto, demeanor. It couldn't have been farther from the truth. Inside he was one guard's itchy trigger finger twitch from lashing out, despite the full shackle job.

The guards all moved with at a snail's pace, checking and double-checking the ID numbers and the rest of the intake information. After verification, two metal bracelets were securely clamped onto each of their wrists. Spike eyed his own set, already the mental gears turning on what they were for. No point in asking.

Jet and Faye blessedly held their tongues, not boiling the hot water any more than it already was. If they could just make it to the general population without making waves … Spike took a deep breath. Hell, if he could just get the guards to realize these restraints were entirely unwarranted.

The door opened and two men in suits walked in. Well, one walked in … the other waddled. The figure's presence alone triggered an unvoluntary step back from Spike, rattling the shackles on his ankles.

Spike's dry mouth couldn't even squeak out a word, not that it would have helped him. _Warden Walrus_ wasn't the dickhead's real name, just what Spike and the other inmates had dubbed the well-blubbered warden of Quidlivun Cavus. He was one of the last people Spike wanted to see.

Walrus's jowls wobbled as he laughed and smacked the other man's shoulder. “Heh! Well, what do you know, Callus. I was right about your incoming, thought that number looked familiar.

Callus adjusted his overly cheery pastel tie. “That string bean there?”

“Trust me, give him a week, you'll never forget him.” The jovial manner vanished, and Walrus's eyes narrowed. With a pudgy finger thrust at Spike he snapped, “Don't turn your back on him. Lost a good guard to his antics. He's a killer, murdered more inmates than any other force on Pluto.”

Spike shot up tall, as tall as he could. “Debatable! You got it all wrong. Not shocking considering how little you left your quarters! I only fought when the guards thrust me into fights with other inmates.”

“The fights, yes. Particularly vile fates for any who faced you.”

“How much did you earn off those?”

Walrus lunged forward and struck Spike across the cheek. The blow stung, but it was pathetic. In a real fight that big guy would be seized by gravity. It did not escape Spike's eye that Warden Callus's eyebrow cocked and he stroked his chin.

Walrus held his hand up, even when Spike offered nothing more than a heated glare. “I'm tellin'ya, Callus, watch this one. And if he's any trouble, send him my way and I'll deal with him. I owe this bastard for that trick he pulled.”

Spike snapped, “I didn't have anything to do with it!”

“One of these days, 240594126, I'll figure out how you got a signal out of my facility. No one was supposed to know you were there.”

There is was, the admission. What Spike had suspected all along, and even Jet, whose jaw hung loose, had come to understand. Not that they could do anything about it.

Walrus folded his arms. “It's a good thing the trash has been removed from circulation. Shame that had to happen twice. Good luck, Callus. I'll be checking in.” He waddled out the door.

The moment it closed, Warden Callus folded his hands before him and met each gaze with a rather unsettling smile. “Welcome to Ganymede's Bayside Prison. I know you'll find your time here entertaining.”

Spike cracked a knuckle with his thumb.


	7. Session 7

_ **Session 7** _

The door to the prison proper rattled closed, thudding behind them. The powered lock rammed into place and echoed with a distinct finality. Jet stared at the barred door, his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach. The cuffs chaffed against the wrist he could feel. None of this felt right. From the nature of their drugged apprehension to the ridiculous trial, it screamed of corruption.

A guard grabbed his elbow and tugged him along, breaking his introspection as Spike, Faye, and he were escorted toward another series of doors.

This time a door on the right opened and a guard pressed Faye through, while the other guards blocked Jet and Spike from passing. Still chained up like some insane asylum inmate, Spike scowled at the men. The door shut and locked, separating them. Faye turned and glanced with wide eyes over her shoulder as the guard pulled her deeper into the dimly lit corridor. She vanished from view.

The guard holding Jet's elbow waited for the door on the left to open. “Alright, now for you two. Let's go.”

The rattle of Spike's chain accompanied the passage into the corridor. Overhead lights spread too far apart to reach one another, a series of light and shadow washed over them in waves. Pausing for a series of more locked doors, they passed by a large barred-in common space where hundreds of prisoners, in their numbered dark blue jumpsuits, mingled. Thugs of all manner from the tattooed gang members to the syndicate high rollers Spike knew all too well. Each floor of the multi-leveled prison had barred off railings making the place resemble an immense cage pierced by the occasional suspended walkway. His eyes glimpsed more than just the rows of cell blocks in staggering numbers.

In the center of the commons a raised platform stood surrounded by more bars. From the corridor the mingling prisoners blocked his view of the floor. But he suspected he knew the purpose. Taking a deep breath, he was hustled along by the guard pressing a hand between his shoulder blades.

Spike's frayed nerves were a hair trigger away from him keeping his cool exterior. Forced to climb several flights of stairs in the ankle shackles was not helping him any. At last, six stories up, the guards opened a cell door and pushed them both inside.

“Face the bars, both of you.” One guard held out a small, remote like device; the other, a set of keys. “I am warning you. Move before I tell you and you'll regret it.”

Spike tensed, but remained still as they unlocked Jet's cuffs, leaving behind the strange metal bracelets clamped around his wrists. A moment later the guard started to unlock Spike's chains, from his ankles and his wrists first, then at last pulling the belt from his waist. The guard dragged the rattling chains out of the door.

The man holding the device flashed a grin as he backed slowly out of the cell. “Welcome home, maggots.” The moment he cleared the door, his partner slammed the door shut with a clank. The two men laughed as they retreated down the barred corridor.

“Dicks.” No longer held at bay by the threat, Spike rested his right arm against the bars, head bowed as he muttered, “And so it starts … all the fuck over again.” The raised ridges of the skin around the fresh laser tattoo were still inflamed as he rolled the left sleeve back to abate the irritation. He rolled back the other one so they would match, an odd parody of how he usually wore his suit. Able to move again, he stretched out the cramps from the position he'd been in since the circus of a trial.

Jet stared at the bars, seeing nothing beyond them. How did this happen? The gears turned in his mind over and over again, lost in thought as he attempted to sort out the last week of secluded hell they had been subjected to. One thing was clear, they were missing a huge part of the equation.

The squeak of springs turned his head. He looked back to find Spike sprawled on the top bunk. His partner didn't even look as he stated, “I told you I called dibs.”

With a sigh, Jet rubbed the back of his neck. Forgetting about the tattoo, he hissed as his fingers brushed the burnt edges. “Damn it, that smarts! Hey, do yours hurt too?”

Spike cocked a knee, crossing his other over it to rest braced there. His fingers laced behind his head. He could have been reclining on the couch in his usual posture in between missions, except this cell wasn't the _Bebop_ , and that jumpsuit wasn't his usual attire. “What do _you_ think?”

Jet sighed and paced the length of their small shared cell. They didn't have access to much. Folded on a shelf they each had a change of attire: numbered jumpsuit, boxers, a simple white t-shirt, and socks. Their shoes were a lace-less slip-on with a soft sole. Two bunks with basic bedding. A stainless steel sink and toilet behind a low wall for an illusion of privacy. A dented metal mug sat on the sink. The mirror was a sheet of polished stainless steel. A desk bolted against the wall with a rickety chair that looked like it might have finished off another cellmate in the past. That was it in a space only marginally larger than the _Bebop_ 's crew quarters. Living on the ship had been one thing, but to be confined to a space so small here? What if they weren't let out—ever? Forgotten up here.

No. They couldn't do that. There were rules. Protocols. Laws that protected prisoners from maltreatment. His breath caught in his throat. His hand gripped the bars of the door. There were also processes for the trial … he had already seen shamelessly broken.

“Don't even bother checking. It locked when they closed it.” Spike muttered to the ceiling.

Glancing over his shoulder, Jet held his hands wide. “We can't just sit here.”

“Watch me.”

“Spike! We need to get out of this cell. Find Faye. Escape this prison.”

He leaned onto his side propping his head up with a hand. “Sure, ask the criminal. Seriously Jet, you're the ex-detective hacker who should know the codes.”

“Detective,” pointing out the door, Jet groused, “not a prison guard. I don't have much knowledge about how security works here. But I figured you might.”

“I got an idea.” Spike held up the metal bracelet on his free wrist. “Something to do with this little jewelry they outfitted us with. And I have no interest in learning how it works. There will be a safe guard to prevent escape at some point, just like there was for the collars in the cargo bay at Quidlivun Cavus.”

Jet cringed at the memory of Spike's raw flesh from where that collar had rubbed for over a year. The damage had been deep and had required scar removal surgery along with the rest of what that time had done to him. “Didn't the warden say it was poison?”

“Caustic poison, injected into the neck veins.” His voice dropped into a dead pan, serious tone. “Trust me, I had to dispose of what was _left_ of a guy who tried. Wasn't pleasant in any regard.” He shook his head, poking a finger beneath the cuff and peering into the narrow gap. Something remained pressed against his wrist even if he had a hard time glimpsing it. “Here's the part I don't like. Quidlivun had their shock sticks which required a guard to get in close range. I have a feeling this has something to do with tasers. You saw the guard holding a remote. I'd put good money on a bet that it was synced to these babies and that every single guard has one. If they're even half as sick as the guards out on Pluto, you're about to witness a whole different definition of sadism, buddy.”

Jet peered at his own set, a finger tapping at his metal arm. Electrical along that would not be good!

Spike sat up on the edge of the bunk, his shoulders sagged. “Remember how much burn salve you went through after you dragged me out of there? You know me, I don't whine about injuries. But that is not a condition I _ever_ want to experience again. So I'm telling you right now, I'm keeping my head down. Not going to try anything stupid.”

Leaning against the bars, Jet ran a hand over his head. He knew Spike well enough to know the guy was a serious risk taker. The fact that he was shying away read loud and clear as a warning klaxon.

“Doesn't mean we don't have connections. What about your old contacts, Donnelly or Bob?”

Jet shook his head. “Wouldn't get us anywhere. Too straight laced. Bob only told me where to find you so I could say goodbye.”

“Explains why he was so shocked to see me alive.”

“Donnelly isn't loyal enough to me to break the rules, it took enough to get him to bend them in the holding cell.” Walking over to the bunk, Jet looked up into Spike's downcast eyes. “Come on now, surely you knew guys who broke out.”

“In the syndicate? Yeah. With help from the outside. Never on their own.” He tossed a hand in the air. “We're all busted. Who's gonna help us from out there?”

Hope came crashing down like a meteorite. Jet flopped down on his rock-hard bunk. “Shit.”

* * *

After a restless night, Jet and Spike found themselves released to the commons with the remainder of the male inmates. Wandering through the bustling crowd they kept to themselves. Spike kept his hands shoved in his pockets as they passed by guards with watchful eyes standing along the edge. He marked that each one either had a remote latched to their belt or held in their hands. Some clearly more nervous than others.

To Jet's relief, Spike seemed adamant in his declaration from the other night. Though his head wasn't technically down, his half-lidded gaze seemed relaxed as possible, posing no threat to anyone. He'd been with Spike long enough to see right through the act. The ex-enforcer was primed beneath the still surface, riding on instinct's razor edge. At this moment, Jet was relieved for that much. Spike would hopefully see anything coming at them.

Pacing along the dividing bars, they scanned the female prisoners on the other side of the prison. It didn't take long to find Faye leaning against the bars. She looked like a tiger in a cage, her green eyes fixed on the bustling inmates around her—all of them giving her a wide berth. The moment she spied the pair she crossed her arms. “Anybody else need a smoke?”

Simultaneously, Jet and Spike raised a hand. Of course no one had any.

She tsked her tongue. “Well, you two look well rested.”

Jet rubbed the kink in his neck. “Not hardly. I swear the couch was more comfortable than that bunk.”

Leaning his shoulder against the bars, Spike murmured, “It is—considerably.”

Faye gripped the bars. “So, did they separate you?”

“No.” Jet took a quick glance as a slight commotion broke out, but it settled the moment a couple guards shifted. Spike continued to lean there, casual as ever. Letting his breath out, Jet continued, “They have us together in the same cramped cell.”

Faye wrinkled her nose. “Well, at least you have each other. My cellmate is a real class act. Spent half the night telling me what her rules for this joint were and what she would do if I broke them.”

Spike eyed her as her tone intensified. “Half the night, and the other half what was she doing?” Somehow he already knew.

“The other half she spent staunching a nose-bleed.”

He half-grinned. “Explains the bruised knuckles.”

Jet stiffened. “Be careful, you're locked in there with her.”

Snorting a laugh, Spike eyed him. “Playing nice won't get you anywhere.”

“I thought you were the one who said you weren't going to try anything!”

“I won't. But I sure as hell will finish shit. Showing weakness will get your ass in a sling.”

Jet's jaw hung limp. “Are you telling me … that … ”

“Faye did something right. Yes. I am.” He crossed his arms. “You better wisen up quick, pard. This is not a place to make a mistake. Need I remind you, some of the bounty heads we nabbed are in here with us. I've already had the displeasure of finding out what that little joyride entails.”

Jet turned to the crowd, his eyes picked out one unsavory mark after another. His stomach tied into knots. No where to run to, a lucky strike and he doubted the guards would come to their rescue.

Spike continued, “I'll say this for Faye as well, we need to keep a low profile here. Trust me, you don't want to get attention in a place like this if you can help it. Once that happens everyone will be watching for a moment of weakness. The only way to keep them at bay is to be the aggressive top dog. And even then it paints a target on you. Others get desperate to prove themselves. It never ends.”

Clinging to the bars, Faye eyed them. “At least you two can back one another up. What am I supposed to do?”

Spike shrugged. “The advantage is limited. For now just lie low and try not to piss anyone off.”

Another commotion broke out, this time it didn't die down. The sound of metal hinges squealing brought on a series of cheers. Jet arced his head, trying to glimpse what all the excitement was about. In the bustling he could see nothing, until the crowd parted. A thick muscled man, with the sleeves of his prison jumpsuit torn off exposing his well inked arms, stomped toward them and pointed. “I got me a hankering for some fresh meat!”

At the sound of the nickname for syndicate rookies, Spike's half-lidded eyes rose to find the man pointing directly at him. _Well, so much for that plan._

A moment later two guards approached him, shoving Jet back as he vainly attempted to intervene.

The guards smiled sadistically as they each grabbed one of Spike's arms, hauling him from the division bars. The situation so familiar to him, he did a quick double take to make certain neither was Sergio, but that asshole had claimed he didn't have the stomach for the job the last time they'd spoken. Quidlivun Cavus had been his final post. Still, Spike detested being forced into this shit—again.

Faye stared through the bars in a panic. “Jet, what are they doing? Where are they taking him?”

He shook his head. “I don't know.”

Forced toward the barred-in enclosure in the commons, Spike got a better look at the raised platform and cursed silently. His guess had been right. A Goddamned cage for pit fights, blood on the mats to prove it.

The guards shoved him inside the ring. The eager man already waiting for him. The door shut and the latch clanked heavily into place, unreachable from inside. Bars overhead prevented climbing out. There was no escape. The man pounded his fist into a palm, outside the inmates and guards chanted his name, “Machete! Machete!”

“You're dead, boy.” Machete laughed low. “I've killed before.”

Spike left his hands in his pockets and lifted a shoulder sluggishly. “And … ?”

“You don't get how screwed you are, string bean!” He pointed at his chest. “I'm a serial killer.”

Lazy eyed, Spike dryly replied, “So … you're saying I don't have to hold back.”

The words and the confidence behind them struck brains in Machete's head a split-second before the bell, obvious by the sudden flash of confusion. An expression that didn't last long.

After the bullshit week Spike had been through Machete's goading had been like dangling a half butchered side of beef in front of a starving dog.

In the blink of an eye, Spike's hand shot out of his pockets and drove up into Machete's chin. Jaw clacked shut with a bone-shattering crack! Without hesitation he drove his other fist into the side of Machete's head. The previously confident man wobbled back and forth on his feet. But Spike didn't let him fall. Rotating off to his side, he delivered a kick knocking him back upright. Blood spattered the mat from his clacking teeth as Machete's arms flailed under the bone-cracking strikes to his torso.

The dam that had been holding his temper in check burst. A week's worth of pent up frustration drove every one of Spike's savage hits. He had a lot to unleash and wasn't about to let this volunteer punching bag tap out before he was done. The only thing keeping the barely conscious man upright was Spike's alternating strikes. At last, knowing that a body could only take so much, he delivered a series of violent blows propelling Machete toward the bars. Drawing back Spike kicked him full force square in the chest. Like a rag doll, Machete flew backward, his blood-drenched hand flopped over the edge and struck the bell.

Ding!

Standing in the center of the ring, Spike heaved each breath, completely unscathed.

Jet's pride at his partner's victory twisted at what he'd seen come over him. The Callisto cold expression in Spike's eyes sent a shiver down his spine. Certainly he knew how fierce Spike could be. He'd seen the guy fight plenty of times before … but his mind roved back to Faye's disturbing description of the fight at the cathedral. Hearing about it and witnessing this savage side of him were different things.

Jet swallowed. That man in the ring wasn't the same teammate he'd been chasing bounties with.

An inmate beside Jet clung behind the shoulder of another man, panic in his voice. “Oh God, no! Not him!”

“Him?” The other scratched his head. “The guy in the cage?”

With a shaking hand he pointed, “That's the Red Dragon's Hellhound! You don't understand … when I was fresh meat with the Blue Snakes we were sent into Tharsis on a recon. I'd never forget my run in with him. That psycho waited for us, drew five of us into an alley on the con that he'd been with the guys we were looking for. The moment he confirmed we were all that was there, he dropped the other four on a fuckin' dime! I've never seen someone's nose get shoved into their face that far! He pounded me into the wall, called me the lucky pigeon and told me to fly away home. Tell the others that if the Snakes came crawling back we'd be dealing with him and his partner, Vicious. There was so much blood in that alley, and his eyes … I'll never forget the blood lust. Look! See?”

Jet couldn't help but look again. Spike stood in the center of the cage, his eyes narrowed and intense. Every breath huffed out of him as he searched the crowd, eventually his gaze climbed up the outer corridors. His eyes came to rest focusing hard on the third floor. Beneath the surface something primal roiled. A beast woken from slumber. Jet followed the murderous glare up to find Spike's eyes locked on Warden Callus. The man stood with his hands on the third story bars sporting a rather disturbing expression on his face—excitement. After a moment, the warden waved a hand.

Two guards entered the ring. Circling around Spike they rushed at him and knocked him hard against the bars. Two more held firearms. Spike didn't fight them despite their rough handling, but the tension didn't leave his limbs as they struggled to press his metal bracelets together. They finally latched as the electro-magnet engaged and the guards hauled him to his feet and forced him out the door. The entire time, Spike's eyes glared daggers up at Callus.

The terrified inmate beside Jet pointed at Machete. “Oh God, he's dead. He killed him. He's gonna kill us all!”

As the guards jostled Spike through the crowd, Jet shivered at the gleam in his eyes. Hostility burned there with a focus of a blow torch.

What had they done?

* * *

Who would have thought what a struggle it would be to return back to their cell? Unable to do so on his own, Jet approached half a dozen guards with different scenarios until at last playing sick worked. The guards seemed only interested in watching the matches in the ring. None of them half as brutal as Spike's beat down.

The images still replayed in Jet's mind as he was escorted swiftly up to their sixth floor cell and flung inside. The guard only tested the door with a quick tug before darting back down.

Jet heaved a sigh. “I'm tellin' ya, pard, what it took to—” His words died in his throat as he turned around. Spike sat with his back against the wall. The intense gaze still burned as he stared at nothing. Jet would have thought by now his breathing should have calmed at least a bit. But it hadn't. Crouching down, he rested a hand on Spike's shoulder. “Buddy? You ok?”

Spike closed his eyes tight and shook his head. Pumping fists, he hissed, “I can't do this again!”

“I don't think I can do this once.” Sitting down beside him, Jet shrugged a shoulder. “This shit is getting to all of us. I can't stop thinking about it since this whole mess started. I'm a good guy, a cop … well, an ex-cop, but I chased down the trash that belongs in prison. I shouldn't be here.”

Lowering his head into his hands, Spike buried his fingers in his hair.

Too late Jet realized the likely source. “Oh no, pard! Shit, I didn't mean it like that. You don't belong here either.”

“Shut up, Jet. Please just shut up.” Spike took a couple shaky breaths. “You didn't spend the last week knowing what was coming. I mean it, I can't do this again!”

Keeping as much confidence in his voice as he could, Jet laid a hand on his shoulder. “You and me, we've weathered a lot of shit-storms together. Some pretty Godawful ones if you ask me. We'll get out of this somehow.”

The clang of footsteps on the grating brought both of them to their feet. Outside the cell, flanked by two guards, Warden Callus smiled as his eyes looked the caged Spike up and down. “Number 240594126, I'd had my doubts, but Warden Tusk hadn't exaggerated a single detail about you. You are every bit the ferocious beast he'd described.”

“Tusk.” Spike practically spat the name, his eyes hostile as ever fixed on their captor. “So that was his name. I never actually heard it.”

Callus chuckled. “He never bothered to learn yours either. Let's face it, names don't mean a thing to your lot. All I care about is the fortune you are about to earn me.”

Spike gripped the bars, his knuckles white against the tight skin.

“How refreshing. I haven't seen a fighter of your caliber enter my cells in years. Not since the last enforcer I had the luck of holding succumbed to shattered ribs from a lucky shot by a desperate opponent. Well, they both died, but still.” Callus giggled with glee, wringing his hands. “That man had lasted months in my ring, the woolongs rained down as heavy as his blows. But now, I have you, my vicious prize fighter.”

Spike's eyes narrowed, he pounded a palm against the bars. “Don't call me that!”

“I can do whatever my heart desires. This is my prison and you would be wise to observe that.”

“You don't know that much about me. I kinda got a problem about following rules I don't agree with.”

Callus snuffed a laugh. “Obviously, considering you hold the record for the largest percentage of a sentence spent in the shackles at Quidlivun Cavus. That had to have been uncomfortable, all those days spent chained to the freezing wall. It's hard to believe you survived long enough to escape. Tusk told me you never did learn to hold back.”

“How would he know?” Acid crept into Spike's voice, “That bastard rarely left his warm little office! He didn't see a damn thing that was executed by his sadistic guards!”

“He didn't have to. And yet he still made a fortune off the guard's betting pool.” He laughed. “As much of a pain as you were to handle, that was your upside. He could always bet on you finishing what _he_ started.”

Spike's breathing rasped, lips drawn back revealing his teeth in a snarl. Jet took a step back, his partner was losing it. Why was the warden provoking him? The only thing stopping Spike was the bars between them, Callus stood just out of reach.

“And here, it will be no different. You are already in the rotation, an exhibition for our periodic entertainment.” His eyes gleamed with pleasure.

“This is practically slavery! I won't fight!”

Callus's grin intensified, reminding Jet of a viper. “That is the best part of all of this. You see, prisoners have no rights. That is precisely what makes my job all the more enjoyable. Complain all you want, but it falls on deaf ears within these walls. This is **my** kingdom. No one will care what a convict whines about. So, you have one choice, 240594126.” He glared at Spike's seething eyes. “If you want to live—you **will** fight.”

Trapped by the bars, unable to reach the man standing out of his range, Spike huffed each breath. Murder in his heated glare.

Callus reached into his pocket. “I think you will find there is an upside to cooperation. Unlike Quidlivun Cavus, I believe in fairness here. I did say prize fighter, did I not?” He withdrew his hand and out came a sealed pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He presented them to Spike. “You win, and there are certain perks.”

Some things overrode anger. Even shaking with rage, Spike's fingers snatched his reward, absently tucking them into his own pocket.

Callus grinned at his victory. “Now, that's a good boy. A little word of warning. Unless you truly wish to die, don't try to light anything on fire. Our protocol is that prisoners will be left to burn, especially lifers like you. You will **never** see the outside of this prison again.” With a wave, Callus and the guards sauntered off.

Jet expected Spike to grab the pack out, if he was itching for a smoke half as badly that would be the first thing on his mind.

Instead, Spike's furious eyes followed Callus until he disappeared down the nearby stairs. The second he was out of range, Spike thrashed against the bars issuing a series of vehement curses.

Jet dashed forward and grabbed his shoulders, hauling him back. It wasn't enough, Spike nearly broke free. Frantically, Jet wrapped his arms around Spike's chest from behind, trapping him in a tight bundle. “Easy! Easy! Calm down! Save it for the ring, Spike! You're going to need it” Of course it did little to stop the runaway train.

“I won't do it! He can't make me!” Spike's voice broke in a strained cry. It took a few minutes, but he gradually stopped struggling, sagging to the ground in a gasping heap. All Jet could do was rest a hand on his shoulder. Pitched forward on his hands and knees, Spike shouted, “Damn it! I'm sick of this shit! Tired of people abusing me for profit.”

Jet swallowed deep, hoping that he wasn't on that list. But now was not the time to ask. In the struggle the pack and lighter had fallen from his pocket onto the floor. Jet picked them up, opening the pack he pulled a cigarette out and held it in front of Spike. “Here.”

Slowly, Spike turned and sat against the bars, he took the cigarette as Jet held out the flame for him. Taking a long drag, he laid his head back and stared at the puff of smoke from his exhale. “Sorry about that.”

Jet leaned his back against the bars. “Don't mention it. I was close to that myself. You gonna be alright?”

Spike lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “Everything is out of our hands now, pard. The only question is … how long can I last?”

* * *

Callus put a fat stack of woolongs into the wall safe. He beamed at all its friends. In truth, he already had a small fortune squirreled away. But what was the harm in exploiting those vile animals he was charged with overseeing? Why not put them to use for a source of entertainment? What other possible use was there for the scum of the universe? Besides, no officials came here to inspect. And on the rare times they'd scheduled a visit, his stash provided the means to avoid that inconvenience. For decades he had been the highest ranking government agent in these halls, outside of a prison jumpsuit. Only idiots got caught.

Here, he was a god and the inmates were at his mercy. What little he possessed. Callus closed the safe and adjusted his pin-striped suit. Seated at his desk he pulled out a fine imported Io cigar. Lighting it, he leaned back and savored the exotic smoke contemplating what he would do with his windfall.

A call came through, no identification. Not unusual, he received a lot of incognito communications, something that came with the territory. Pushing the button, he replied cordially, “Warden Callus speaking.” One never knew, so being formal was best.

A deep familiar voice crackled through. _“Greetings Callus, I trust that you have received my gift?”_

He laughed, expelling a puff of cigar smoke. _Man, this Io cigar is the best._ “I most certainly have, sir.”

“ _Does it please you?”_

“I should say so. When he stood in in-take I thought there must have been some kind of mistake. The guy is hardly imposing. All those extra chains as a precaution seemed ludicrous. That was until I saw him in the cage! I wish you could have seen his debut. I picked the hottest head in the prison and had the guards seed the fight. That prick walked right into it like a blind fool. He didn't last one round. Corpse had to be carried out and disposed of. Your … uh … gift to me is going to force me to invest in a larger safe.”

The voice cleared his throat. _“That does not interest me. Can you keep them contained?”_

“Them?” Callus scratched his head. “Oh, them, the other two he came in with. The femme fatale and the dude with the metal arm? Yes. They should pose no trouble. I have ways to break them if they get ideas. In the meantime, I'll be keeping their fighter on edge so he doesn't have time to think. That man has a temper! You should have seen his eyes. After a scrap he is fit to be tied. And I think that's how I'll handle him. Don't want him among the rest of the gen-pop on a hair trigger where he could get hurt outside of a brawl. Hehehe. Let's keep that contained to the exhibitions.”

“ _Callus, I don't care what you do with them so long as they remain in lock up. Do you understand?”_

Blinking out of his bloody daydream Callus held another breath of the sweet cigar smoke. “Loud and clear, sir. You can trust me. I would never dream of letting such a profitable savage slip through my fingers while he still draws breath. In my prison there are a long list of worthy opponents lined up. He will be busy just trying to survive.”

“ _Good. Remember what the price of failure is.”_

“You worry for nothing.” He picked up the remote and swung it by a strap. “I have my kingdom under my complete control. You'll see, sir. You put your faith in the right man for the job.”


	8. Session 8

_ **Session 8** _

Shadows stretched across the floor. The crisscross of the wires morphed as the day passed, marking the time. Lying on an old blanket against the cement brick wall, Ein rested his chin in his paws. His ears drawn back, eyes half open staring out the high kennel window. A bowl of kibble sat untouched just inside the door.

Mary stopped at his kennel door and knelt down. “What's the matter, little guy? Not hungry?”

When she opened the door and nudged the dish his way, Ein shifted his head and turned further away with a grumbly moan.

Cupping a hand by her mouth, Mary called out, “Hey Steve, I think something is wrong with this one.”

A moment later, Steve peered around the door at the little dog. His eyes caught the full dish. “That's not good. He didn't eat yesterday either.”

“Do you think he's sick?” Mary reached out and picked Ein up, dragging him into her lap. He lay there, pulled onto his back, floppy like a stuffed animal.

Steve plunged his fingers into the thick golden fur down to the skin. “Hrm, he's not too warm.” Checking over the obvious things he shrugged. “The little guy seems alright.” But his hand beneath Ein's chin failed to elicit a response.

“Where did you say he came from?”

“The courts sent him over to us. Said he was seized off some space ship. So it's not like he was a wandering stray like we normally get. Seems like he was well cared for. He's got a good weight on him.”

Scratching his ears, Mary tried to get Ein to perk up. The poor dog languished in her lap. “Come on, little guy. It's not so bad. You are such a cutie. Someone will come along and give you a better home than some stinky old ship.”

Ein turned his head away from her, pointing his nose toward the sky outside the kennel window. He groaned.

Steve shook his head. “I don't know what he wants. But we better figure it out soon so he starts eating again.”

If only they could read his thoughts … _I want to go home._

* * *

Ed sat cross-legged in the middle of her bunk. By now she should have been used to the idea of a jumpsuit, after all that's what they'd made her wear at the jail, too. She and the others. This one was a different color though, it was a medium blue, not quite denim, but like fabric trying to be denim and failing because it was too bright. Ed didn't care for it. She wanted to be in her shorts and t-shirt, but those were back on the ship … where she belonged.

Flexing her bare toes she sighed, watching the other teenagers move in and out of the room. During the day they were allowed to interact, only at night were they shut into the grouped cells. Ed wasn't fond of the girls she shared the room with. They whispered into the morning hours, gossiping. Saying the same stuff every single night like it was new. How many times did they have to mention how cute Riley was, or how Jane was breaking out in hideous acne that would probably scar her for life.

It was boring here. The walls were a uniform white paint. The furniture all the same type and too orderly. Everyone forced to dress the same. It lacked the welcoming chaos of the _Bebop_. It lacked her computer which was back there. And most of all, it lacked her chosen family … which was not. Rocking back and forth Ed thought through the trial and what the mean judge had said.

That judge'd been wrong. Ed's time spent with Jet, Spike, and Faye-Faye had been the best part of her life. Sure, sometimes bad things happened. Stuff blew up, people got shot or hurt, she even got chased; but it was exciting and ever changing. They were constantly in motion.

Not like now. Staring at the same walls, Ed sighed. She wanted to look out the window and see a new landscape, not the same stupid brick wall.

Riley appeared in the doorway and leaned against it. The teen with a purple mohawk lifted his chin. “Hey weirdo, you just gonna sit there all day?”

“Yessss.” Ed hissed out, still rocking back and forth.

He wrinkled his brow. “Why?”

“Ed is scheming.”

He burst into laughter. “Your name is Ed?”

“Edward.”

“But you're a girl.”

“So?”

He smirked. “Edward is a boy's name.”

“So? Ed likes it. Now, leave Ed alone, she is thinking.”

Raising an eyebrow he took a step into the room basically filled with six bunks and not much more. “About what?”

“Getting my family back.”

He slapped his thigh. “Damn girl, that ain't happenin'. Kids like us don't get 'em back. That's why they send us here.”

Undeterred, she continued to rock back and forth and back and forth. “Ed is getting Ed's family back together no matter what the nasty judge said.”

“Who says they would even want you back? Mine sure as hell don't want to see my thieving hide again.”

Ed grinned. “They want Ed back. They came to Earth to get Ed and Ein back. We went to the edge of the system to get Spike back. Now they need Ed to get them back. All Ed has to do is figure out how.”

“Hate to break it to yah, weirdo, but this place is locked down with some pretty sophisticated systems. It'd take a computer wiz to hack 'em.”

Ed positively beamed. She'd already been watching from a distance, learning the patterns of the guards and councilors. On her covert stake outs she had already collected a great deal of information. Riley was right on one aspect, the place was fairly secure. But Ed watched the over confident adults “in control” of the juvenile detention.

She began to cheerily chant, “Ed is not weird. Ed is Radical Edward. And Radical Edward is determined to go home.”

Riley snorted. “Well, good luck with that. I'll be watching you fail.”

_First things first_ , Ed thought to herself, _Ed needs stuff to work with._ Her fingers flexed. Spike hadn't exactly taught her sleight of hand, but she'd been watching him when he played cards against Faye-Faye. Always trying to keep from laughing when Spike claimed he wasn't cheating as Faye-Faye got super mad at losing. The trick didn't seem that difficult. Now she began to appreciate the outfit they forced her to wear.

Ed had pockets!

* * *

Faye couldn't believe her eyes. When she approached the section of the prison divider Jet had designated as the meeting point, she smelled cigarette smoke. Not only that, Spike was in the process of smoking one as he leaned his shoulder against the bars, hands in his pockets. Jet smelled strongly of smoke, too strong to have been merely second hand. This would be so much easier if she were on the same side with the guys. But one glance at the male inmates, some of them leering through the population divider like perverts, and she instantly dismissed it. Some of those losers clearly were incapable of keeping their hands to themselves.

Her fingers itched as she grabbed the bars, staring at the rising smoke. “How the hell did you get those? No wait, I don't care. But I seriously need one.”

Spike flicked one toward her. “Better enjoy it. I don't have many to spare.”

She hated how she trembled, nearly burning her own fingers as he held the lighter to it. Of course she had noticed that a selection of their fellow inmates were smoking. But none of them seemed inclined to let her bum one. Inhaling she felt the irritation fade in the balm of the smoke. “This is the longest I've gone without one.”

A rather rude noise escaped Spike, but he made no comment. She noticed his eyes were focused on their side, scanning with the same vigilance he would have used to search for a bounty head in a crowded bar. Jet seemed no less relaxed, not surprising after the commotion yesterday.

Faye touched Spike's shoulder and waited for him to glance her way. “Hey, you alright? I had a hard time seeing what happened the other day from over here. That guy didn't hit you, did he?”

He shook his head, something about the light in his eyes gave her pause. Regret, maybe? It was hard to read. “No, he never laid a hand on me.”

She glanced up to Jet hoping for some clarification when Spike offered nothing more, turning back to his vigilant watch. Jet rubbed his head. “This is worse than we thought.”

Pulling the cigarette from her mouth so she didn't drop it, Faye waved a hand. “How can this possibly get worse?”

As if fate decided to answer her question. The squeal of the hinges turned their heads. Cheers erupted through the commons, pierced by a series of panicked cries. Jet and Faye recognized the voice from one of the fights yesterday. The poor guy had gotten pounded, his ankle snapped so he'd been dragged out, screaming. Apparently not every fight ended in a death.

The crowd parted a bit, the man made a pitiful attempt to stumble away from guards closing in on him. But the leg would barely support him for more than a shambled step or two. He was left crawling away. “No! Don't drag me in there! I can't do it again. Please! I can hardly stand up, I can't possibly fight!”

The guard's seized him a short distance from Spike and Jet.

A senior guard pressed a com device in his ear. “Repeat that, sir?”

Spike leaned forward, one word of the garbled message clear enough for him to pick out. “ … _example_ … ” His eyes narrowed.

“Confirmed.” The senior guard nodded. Without hesitation, they hauled the target off his feet ignoring his struggles.

“Mercy! Please! I can't fight today! I can't do it!” He wailed as one of the guards grabbed his swollen ankle. That ended any coordinated effort to break free as they dragged him up into the cage. Another guard hauled a stand though the door and to the center in full view of everyone. The moment that device appeared, the cheering died down. The inmates took a step back, some cringing away.

They tethered the man upright, stretching his arms wide out at his sides in a straight line as he sobbed, the words barely intelligible. “Please … I can't … fight … ”

Jet stared as the guards all left the cage and shut the door. The latch echoed in the hushed commons.

In front of the cage, the senior guard held out his remote, eyes locked on the third floor. At the nod from Callus, he pushed a button—and left it there.

The man screamed, but it only lasted for a moment before his jaw clenched shut. He jerked in the hold of the restraints, every muscle in his body tensed. His eyes rolled back. Everything remained rigid, until the guard released the trigger. The man hung limp, saliva dripping from his slack mouth, a puddle of piss on the floor. He didn't move.

Two guards entered, one held his nose. “Gah, I hate this part. Specially when they shit themselves.”

The other kicked the man's shattered ankle. There was no reaction. Pressing a finger against the neck he paused for a moment, then turned and held up a thumb. The guards released the restraints, letting the man fall forward to the mat. Or rather, as Spike suspected, his corpse. Spike hated being wrong, but he loathed being right about the purpose of their little jewelry at this moment. The weight of the metal cuffs on his wrists pressed down on him.

Spike glanced up at Jet who looked like he was staring at a train wreck. Discarding the butt of his cigarette and grinding it into the floor, Spike murmured, “Still wanna be one of the good guys?”

Jet struggled to look away, as they dragged the body out. He would not have believed this if he were not seeing it with his own eyes, had he not heard Callus yesterday. This was not how any of this was supposed to work.

The senior guard waved to a couple of others, in a group they approached Spike, though the subordinates were a touch apprehensive. The senior guard stared Spike in the eyes. “The warden wants to know if you received his message.”

Clenching his jaw, Spike shifted his eyes toward Callus's private viewing platform. His fists pumped at his side. “Sadistic bastard.”

“He wants an answer.” Somehow the guard remained stoic even as the others flanking him wavered a touch, dread in their eyes.

Spike slammed his fist against the bars. “Fuck!” He stormed past them, the guards stepped out of his way as they followed, pressing Spike toward the cage door in case he changed his mind.

Faye finally caught her breath. “My God … Jet they're … ”

He bowed his head and shook it, finishing for her, “ … forcing him to fight in their wretched blood sport. You should have seen the warden yesterday. He took great pleasure in working Spike up into a frenzy from the safety of the other side of the bars. By the time he left, Spike completely lost it. I actually had to grapple him until he got a hold of himself.”

“Why the hell would he do that?”

“A power demonstration. Spike suspected that was the case last night once he calmed down. Looks like the warden made certain he thought twice about bowing out.” Jet clenched a fist. “Damn it, Faye! This kind of shit shouldn't be happening. This is supposed to be the justice system.”

“Looks more like an illegal gambling arena.” Finishing the cigarette, she ground it beneath her shoe. “This is bad, we have one less pair of eyes to mark the watch patterns to form a plan. Jet, be honest with me, how long do you think Spike can hold up? How long do we have to get out of here?”

Jet shrugged. “He's good, but days on end of this? Callus looked him over like he was appraising a new race horse he'd just purchased. I don't think this will end well.”

“Spike's no thoroughbred. He's a bronco.” He met Faye's worried gaze. “This will be one very bloody race.”

Forced inside the cage, Spike's stomach soured. He couldn't even look at the stains on the mat, some of them caused by him just yesterday. Staggering to the far side of the square he put his back to the bars and slid down to the floor, sitting with one knee cocked. He'd been a Goddamned stone-cold killer in the syndicate. But this … this was not the same thing as taking a hit order from Mao.

Staring at the metal cuffs on his wrist he could smell the burnt flesh from the recently dragged out corpse. Electricity. Somehow this prick of a warden had arranged some kind of device inside these things that not only was an electromagnet, but also held the potential for a powerful taser. Spreading the victims arms wide would have directed the current across the heart, rendering it lethal. They were rather cleverly designed giving no hint of their locking mechanism.

In another time and place he would have called this brutally efficient. Right now, staring down the potential of experiencing this for himself, it made him sick. Callus's threat echoed in his mind. With his head bowed, he knew—he truly had no choice.

The door latch clanged shut. His opponent slammed against the door, screaming out, “I swear it! I didn't break the rules. It wasn't me. Please, Warden! Let me out!”

Spike raised his eyes, staring through his hair up at the young man. This was no thug. It reminded him of the white collar syndicate workers who faced a firing squad for embezzling. Men who the most action they had seen was running to the copy machine to beat a deadline. For all Spike knew this guy hadn't done a damn thing to earn his sentence here.

Sliding down on his knees, his opponent folded his hands and prayed aloud.

The bell rang. Spike hung his head for a moment steeling himself. When he raised it, the man crouched against the cage bars, tears streaming down his face. “I saw you … yesterday … oh God, help me!”

Spike didn't want to do this. One glance at the metal on his wrists and he pushed up to his feet. Yes, the message was clear. Cheers filled the air as the man cringed. There was nothing sporting about this. But maybe he didn't have to do it all the way.

In a swift rush, Spike delivered a firm punch to the man's gut.

A pained cry rushed out, dying on his lips as he doubled over and lie on the mat hugging himself.

Standing over him, Spike whispered, “Surrender. Tap out.”

With a shaking hand, his opponent patted the mat.

Spike stepped back, hands at his side, in response to the sparing sign to end a match. That was it. It was over.

But the bell did not ring. The senior guard pressed his earpiece. Stern eyes flicked Spike's way. He held out the remote pointing directly at him, gesturing toward the prone man.

Spike's blood ran cold. But the guard's finger shifted over the button, hovering there.

Spitting a curse, Spike locked eyes with the terrified gasping man. There was only one thing he could do. “I'll make this quick.”

Sweeping down, Spike grabbed the man by the collar and with all his might drove him head first into the bars of the door. The neck snapped in one shot. Leaving the corpse against the door, and knowing that swung into the cage, Spike backed away to the center. Once more he glared up at Callus. This time, the man wasn't smiling.

Of course it took quite a bit of work to open the jammed door, which had been Spike's intention. The moment they managed to, he raised his hands, a sign of cooperation … that did him no good. Two of the guards bull rushed him, knocking the wind from him as they forced him down onto the mat and wrestled with the cuffs until the lock engaged. Once more he found his ire raising as they manhandled him out of the cage through the cheering inmates.

Faye swallowed. She had stepped up on the crossbar to get a better look from the beginning. “He didn't want to do that. Did you see? They threatened him if he didn't.”

Jet nodded already fretting about what he would find when he could reach their cell again.

“Where are they taking him?”

“Yesterday it was back to our cell.”

She widened her eyes. “You two only just got down here today. Jet, if they only let him out for this … it'll destroy him!”

Two guards hauled the body of the victim past, the head lolling. “Heh, so much for overpopulation. With this guy in the cage, we'll have plenty room.”

“Haha, no kidding. And now I don't have to listen to this whiner claim he was innocent all day.”

“They all say that. I'm just glad I didn't draw the short straw for that animal's escort. Shit, the last thing I'd want to do is be on the receiving end.”

* * *

Spike sat on the floor against the wall. Even six floors above he could hear the enthusiastic cheering. The face of his terrified victim haunted him. In Quidlivun Cavus the informal brawls had rarely ended in a death blow, though Spike knew many were lethal anyway. Injuries that the weakened inmate couldn't overcome in the frigid conditions spent in the shackles for fighting. His goal had always been to subdue them in hopes that he wouldn't get caught with blood on his hands.

Steps echoed on the grating outside. A pack of cigarettes landed between his feet.

He looked up to find Callus standing on the other side of the bars, a frown on his face. “That wasn't very entertaining.”

Spike met his gaze with a glare, determined not to rise to his taunts.

Callus folded his arms. “There are consequences for disappointment in my kingdom. Next time you make it last or I'll put more in there with you. I repeat, scumbag. You. Will. Fight. If you refuse to make it interesting … ”

“Screw you.” Spike cut him off. “That man wasn't a fighter.”

At the vehemence, Callus took a step back. His brow furrowed. “You're still not getting just how powerless you really are. Who is the animal behind the bars?”

“If these bars were not between us you wouldn't have the breath to speak with!”

“Ah, but they are. And for something like you I ensure there are always safe guards. Ways to leash my beasts. Manipulation of a preconditioned mind is exceeding simple, after all, someone already did the hard work for me. You are a stone cold killing machine. That's why I simply relish getting my hands on syndicate punks, especially the upper ranked ones.” A sinister smile grew. “I'll let you think about that until tomorrow. Remember, I want to be entertained.” His polished dress shoes clanked off his steps.

Now alone, Spike reached out and picked up his reward. The pack of cigarettes. He knew the clawing ache of what it was like to go for over a year unable to scratch the itch of his life-long vice. Memories rolled back, how many times had he muttered in Quidlivun that he'd kill for a cigarette?

Now … he actually was. He shut his eyes at the price he had paid for them. “Damn it.” Were these really worth a life?


	9. Session 9

_ **Session 9** _

The cell door had clanged shut five minutes ago. Jet still lingered in the shadow of the bars uncertain what to do. He'd discovered Spike lying on his side in his bunk on top of the blanket, facing the wall. One arm reached up, the hand resting on the pillow. He hadn't moved, hadn't shown a single sign of a reaction. Just a slow and steady breathing. If Jet didn't know him as well as he did, he would swear Spike was sleeping. But this was not the proper rhythm for that.

At a loss for what to say he gazed at the floor as the detective in him engaged. The ashes and butts of numerous cigarettes littered in piles. Not in one location, but several. Proof of Spike's restless activity. By the wall in two places, a trail through the center of the cell, at the desk, around the bunks. He found the scattered remains of the first box of cigarettes torn into small pieces at one corner of the bunk. By the angle it looked as though Spike had been sitting on the top when he had systematically destroyed it. A tray with an empty mug and plate scraped clean was a relieving sight. At least they hadn't starved him after locking him up here on his own. Jet had been forced to eat alone, among the other inmates.

He cleared his throat and tried to keep the tone lighter. “Will you look at that, they still have room service here.” Yesterday they had eaten a rather unidentifiable meal together in the cell. But still, this was Spike, he hoped the topic of food might get a reaction.

All he saw was a slightly deeper exhale, like an aborted sigh.

Wandering closer to the bunk, Jet rested his right arm against the bunk support only to be reminded of the still healing tattoo burns. He swallowed the hiss and shifted so his elbow touched the cool metal instead. Another topic suggested a bridge. “Faye wanted to tell you thanks for the smoke. She uh … she really needed it.”

Spike's fingers shifted. But that was all the more he got.

Rubbing the safe side of his neck, Jet shook his head and rolled onto his bunk. Lying on his back, he cradled his head with his hands and stared into the silence. Time was hard to gauge without a clock and with no outside window. But it felt like an eternity as he searched for some topic to reach the distant Spike, some lame ass story to discharge the tension. Each one he discarded.

Until at last his lips spoke seemingly of their own accord. “Yo Spike, what did you want to be when you grew up?”

Instantly Jet shut his eyes, swearing at himself. What a stupid topic to bring up. Of course he wouldn't answer something like that!

Spike's voice was hollow, a gravelly whisper, “Alive.”

Jet opened his eyes, scrambling to try and find some way to keep this shred of success going. “I uh … well, yeah, but I mean … like a job or something.”

A few breaths passed, Spike's voice remained hollow. “I rarely thought very far ahead, there wasn't much point.”

_Shit, I'm making it worse!_ He laughed nervously, “But, uh, every kid has dreams. Did you ever think you'd be living on a ship in space?”

The mattress overhead shifted. The angle of his voice had changed, less muffled as if he were lying on his back now. “On the rooftops I used to stare up at the stars. The way they shimmered and moved, drifting through the night captivated me. Everything in motion … but they were unreachable. I had no idea back then that was even possible.”

Good. More than a sentence. _Now what?_ “Hard to believe where we've gone. Eh pal?” For a long while Jet listened to his own heartbeat hoping for something. Had Spike gone to sleep? Then—

“A couple of the regulars at the hall used to tell me I was a slick enough pool shark to hit the pro-circuit.” He exhaled a long breath. “Damn that sounded so unreal. Making money for playing a game? I just … couldn't take 'em seriously.”

Jet hoped there would be more. “Oh?”

“I suppose if I really thought about it, I'd wanted to get out from under Uncle Joe. Set up my own gaming hall and keep the profits for myself. But Uncle Joe was pretty keen on making sure that idea never got traction.” His voice was still so drained.

“Yeah, that's family for you.”

“Joe wasn't family. That whole _uncle_ thing was part of his con, made people think they could trust him while he had me fleece them for all they were worth. You know?”

“You believed he was your uncle, though?”

“For a while, yeah. There was a time I was incredibly naive.”

“You?”

He sighed. “I wasn't born street savvy. Time hammered that into me.”

“A pool shark, huh … to think, had circumstances been different you would have been featured on the sports broadcasts turning trick shots for a living. That would have been amazing to see.”

Silence stretched. Jet cursed himself for losing the thread he desperately needed to keep going. He needed something else. Of course that memory hadn't been comforting. This 'Uncle Joe' had been another point where someone had utilized Spike for their own personal gain.

Jet shook his head. “Life is full of shattered dreams. Guess I taught that lesson to my old man when I became a cop instead of following in his footsteps and becoming a fisherman.”

There was a delay, then the slow squeak of the springs shifting. Spike peered over the edge, upside down with his eyebrow cocked. “Wait a minute, your father was a fisherman?”

Jet concealed his relief that he had finally made a chink in the wall. He nodded, head still in his cupped hands. “Certainly did his damnedest to force the rod and reel on me.”

“That why you suck at fishing?”

“Like you're any better.”

“First time I saw any real water besides rain was at Mao's place after he dragged me out of that dead end crater. That was only a lake. I'd never even seen a fish that wasn't on a plate. What's your excuse?”

“Alright partner, you got me there. I did grow up on Ganymede.” Jet chuckled. “Dad spent years taking me out onto the oceans showing me all the tricks of the trade. And what did I do with it? I went to catch the big fish on land. Boy was he livid.” Shifting on the cot, Jet tried for something else. He sat up on his bunk and leaned against the wall.

It worked. A moment later Spike dropped down from the top and sat next to him. Soon they leaned against the wall wreathed in cigarette smoke.

Jet held up a finger. “I know the exact day I decided that was not the life for me.”

Spike glanced at him. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. So picture this. The ship's out there floating in the middle of the wide ocean. Not a spit of land in sight. Dad loved the rod and reel, no nets for him. Big rods only, the ones for the deep seas. We'd spent all morning baiting the hooks, flinging them in, pulling them out. All for nothing.”

Spike snuffed a breath. “ Tck. Sounds like one of our stake outs.”

Slowly, Jet nodded, a smile growing as he took a drag of the cigarette. “I suppose it really was. Anyway, I was bored, went to pull in the line on my rod when suddenly the reel starts flying. Dad comes tearing over as I'm fighting to keep the reel from spinning. My feet are slipping across the deck. I can't let go or the whole set would get pulled in. Then this massive Ganymede sailfish breaches the water. The other end of my line hooked in its mouth.”

Spike leaned forward, his cigarette hanging a bit from his lips.

Jet mimicked the memory with his hands. “I hauled back with all my might. This damn fish had been something my old man had always wanted to catch, his great white whale. They're elusive as hell and extremely powerful. Winning a battle against one of these babies earned a man a reputation and a trophy. And I was still a boy. But—I was my father's boy!

“Full grown, this monster fish kept leaping into the air, pulling me closer to the edge. Dad couldn't grab the rod from me, so he shouted, 'Don't you let go, Jet! Bring it in! Do me proud, son!'”

He laid his head back. “Well, I can say I didn't let go. The damn fish jerked me right off the deck of the ship and clear into the water. It shot through the waves dragging me face first like a fallen water skier. I swear I swallowed half the ocean while my old man screamed in the background, 'Reel it in, Jet!' What little I could think, what the heck was I supposed to do if I did manage to reel the thing in? It was over three times my size”

Spike threw back his head and burst into laughter. It wasn't quite the fully relaxed laugh Jet knew him to have, but it was closer than he had hoped to get.

He shrugged. “You think that's funny. Dad had to chase me down in the ship. By then the line had broken allowing the fish to get away. But there I floated on my back, hands in a death grip on his pole. He plucked me out of the water and shook his head. My effort had failed to score him his highest honor and his trophy. I heard about it the whole way back, soaked to the bone and smelling like an old sock.”

When Spike caught a breath between laughing fits, he asked, “So what did your mom think?”

“When we got home? Oh there was no end to it. She was upset with my dad for letting me go overboard and letting the fish run off with me. It took my grandma's intervention to save me from that tug of war. That woman was the final word in the Black household! Dad didn't dare stand up to her when she had a mind. Course, I ended up sick in bed with pneumonia after that. That's how I first got introduced to Grandma's remedy.”

Spike narrowed his eyes, then burst into laughter again.

“What?” Jet blinked. “What's so funny?”

“Picturing you … with hair!”

Rubbing his bald head, Jet groaned.

“Hahaha! Did you have a beard back then too?”

“I was a kid. I wasn't born with a beard.” If he hadn't been aiming to break Spike out his funk he would have been harder on him, but he would take the cheap shots for the moment if it helped.

Breathless from the laughing fit, Spike leaned back and took a long drag from the cigarette. “You know what's ironic is you ending up with a damn fishing vessel after all.”

Jet stared at the twisting smoke from his cigarette. His voice softer, “I inherited the _Bebop_ … from my old man.”

Suddenly Spike stopped. “No shit … Jet, I didn't know that.”

“I never told you, pard. I'd had her for sometime before I quit the ISSP. She just sorta sat tied up at the dock after he died. I had no clue what to do with her.” Jet's hand rubbed his metal arm. “Until my career died and I had nothing else to do.”

“Damn.” Staring at his lap, Spike shook his head. “No wonder she was your baby.”

“He'd always wanted to take her to Europa and fish the waters there. Especially after the trade here ran into problems and the sea rat craze hit. That was never for him. But … he never made it to Europa. So … there's for shattered dreams.” Jet flicked the spent butt on the floor. “What was your father like?”

Spike huffed a breath, flicking his burnt out cigarette to the middle of the pile of torn up packaging. “Dunno. Barely got a chance to know my folks. What little I do recall is … hazy.” He rubbed his forehead. “I mean I was pretty young when they got killed. I remember vaguely moving to the apartment. Neighborhood was crappy, but the place was actually nice. I had my own room and everything. But … I don't remember much about them.” His brow furrowed. “Both of them worked, together somewhere.” A flicker of a grin formed. “My dad had this long white coat. When he was home, I constantly tugged it down and tried to wear the dang thing. But he was so tall … I kept tripping on it.”

That triggered a chuckle in Jet imagining Spike as a mere twig of a boy, likely a tiny terror.

“Beyond that … ” Spike's grin faded and his eyes grew a bit distant. “It's like my mind decided what was the point of recalling something I couldn't have anyway. The memories just … didn't stick.”

Jet looked out across the room, the nagging question wouldn't go away no matter how he tried. “Spike, I gotta ask you something … when you said you were tired of people profiting off you … you didn't mean … ” When he looked up he found Spike staring him in the eyes, the expression hard to read.

“Years ago you dragged my carcass out of a bottle at one of the lowest points of my life.” He held up a hand when Jet tried to speak. “No, I truly mean it. That day I was dead. I didn't have a single damn thing to live for, I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop and the syndicate learn I was still alive and finish me off. Then you came along and offered me a refuge. The _Bebop_ became a place I could heal from the injuries I didn't realize I even had. And through all the bullshit I pulled with you … you didn't abandon my ass. No. You have been one of the few people in my life who didn't screw me over.”

That was a relief. Jet exhaled and put a hand on Spike's knee. His tone dead serious. “Spike, I know you don't like to listen to others. But—if you've ever listened to me, I need you to now. This is not your fault.”

Spike flinched backward, but didn't recoil all the way. The pain flared in his eyes. Jet saw right to the guilt and shame Spike had to have been wallowing in since the first time the cage door latched.

“I'm telling you, partner. You have to kill your conscience! What Callus is doing, that blood is entirely on his hands—not yours.” Jet grabbed the collar of Spike's jumpsuit, pulling him closer. “Don't let it tear you apart. He is forcing you to do this.” He shook his head. “This is a choice between you and your opponents. You do what you have to to come out of the cage alive, damn it. I am not losing my partner again! Do you hear me? We are all walking out of this hellhole together.”

Spike's breathing grew a bit harsher, his eyes wandered the cell before settling on Jet again. Determination lingering there. “We'll get the _Bebop_ back. But you're wrong about one thing, there is another with blood on their hands. Whoever set us up.” He lifted a fist. “And I mean to make them pay.”

Jet held out a hand. As Spike grasped and shook it, Jet barked, “That's a deal. Partner.”

* * *

Faye pressed the side her face against the cell bars, squinting in the dim light as she tried to make out the locking mechanism mounted on the wall. If she really stretched out her arm she could reach it, her fingertips exploring the smooth recesses. If only she had her fake lipstick container with the concealed jammer. There was a chance it could override the signal. But of course that had been back on the ship. With a grunt she realized it would have been confiscated had she had it on her at the fateful dinner.

Her hair, unrestrained because they had taken her headband, flopped in front of her eyes. With a curse she withdrew, struggling to get the unruly cascade of hair to behave. Tucking it behind her ear, she snapped a nod. Her success was short lived. Once more it defied her. “Damn it! If it isn't one thing, it's another. Fine, I don't need to see to feel.”

Stretching back out, she explored the device and at last found an indentation that felt something like a keyhole. “Aha! Hey, you don't have a hairpin or something like that?”

Seated in the shadows of the lower bunk, Violet, Faye's unfortunate cellmate shrunk back. She peered through two blackened eyes, her nose still swollen and resembling an overripe grape. Violet shook her head, long strands of light purple hair hung in unruly curls. “Course not. They don't let us have stuff like that here. Seriously, give it a rest. Why you trying to break outta here anyway?”

“Because.” Faye straightened up and placed a hand on her hip. She couldn't stand the feeling of the rough jumpsuit fabric on her skin. And the damn thing fit like a sack, shapeless and unflattering. She could only imagine how it made her look. “I'm not alone here and I have to check on some friends of mine.”

“Uhhh.” Violet's puffy eyes narrowed. “Why don't you catch 'em when we're in the commons.”

“They're on the other side.”

“With the guys?” She laughed. “Oh you're not gettin' over there. No way. No how, girl. There's a ton of locked doors between us and them, no direct way. I know a girl who tried to get to her beau. My last cellmate. Made a dash for it when she thought she had a chance.” Violet shuddered. “They brought her back here to die … what was left of her.”

“Yeah, well she isn't me.”

“Hey, s'your life. But I wouldn't count on getting too far. There's a price for making waves around here.”

“Please. More of the fear tactics?”

Violet sat up straighter. “I'm not fibbing! Least not like I was the first night—don't hit me again! You saw it yourself. With the guy on male prisoners' side. You know, they fried him with these things.” She held up her wrists showing the cuffs all the prisoners wore. “That guy wasn't sleeping, he was dead. You know, that happened right before the other thing that psycho of a warden likes to do. Right before he had his goons unleash that animal into the cage. Looks like they got another wild bruiser on the other side. Sure am glad we're over here. Wouldn't want to be locked up with a brute like him!”

The words drove a white hot poker into Faye. She surged across the cell and grabbed Violet by her hair, wrenching her head back. “If you know what's good for you, you'll take that back, bitch! Spike can be a perfect asshole when he puts his mind to it, but he is **not** an animal!”

Violet stammered. “Oh sh-shit!Yo... you now that guy?”

Letting the hair go with a jerk, Faye jabbed a finger at her chest. “He's a shipmate.”

“Oh God … don't tell me you're as violent as he is!”

Faye crossed her arms, staring through the strands of hair falling in front of her eyes. “Keep it up and you'll find out! We were railroaded in the same sham of a trial. And let me tell you, the guy's a helluva survivor. But still, I don't like what they're doing to him. I need access to the other side.”

Exhaling a gasp, she backed as close to the wall as she could. “Sister, it'll be a cold day on Io before that happens. But it's not like you can't chat with your boyfriend at the common's divider.”

Faye loomed over her causing Violet to cover her face, cringing in terror. “Spike is not my boyfriend! And I already found both he and Jet there. The trouble is the guards drag Spike away right after the matches. I don't have much time, and it worries me.”

“Why?”

“He doesn't like to be controlled and has a temper.”

Violet peeked between her fingers and muttered, “ **He** has a temper?”

“Watch it.” Faye snarled.

Shrieking like a mouse, she pulled her pillow over her head.

Huffing out a breath, Faye stalked back to the bars and leaned against them, crossing her arms. “Some help you are, afraid of your own shadow. If you had been one of our marks we wouldn't have bothered.”

Muffled through the pillow, Violet replied, “I count myself lucky.” Slowly, she emerged. “Wait … marks? Were you bounty hunters?”

Faye nodded and bowed her head. “We were until someone put a bounty on us. All of us. We smell a big fat rat behind this as the trial was a fiasco.”

Violet set her pillow aside and shrugged. “You ain't getting out of here. No one gets out of this place.”

“Oh yeah?” Faye's steely eyes searched outside the cell. “Well, they say no one gets out of Pluto either, and we proved that one dead wrong.”

“Uhhh … wait … what?”

She grinned. “It's a long story.”

“We got all night.”


	10. Session 10

_ **Session 10** _

Blue sky stretched out. Weightless. The sensation of a free fall grasped Spike, his arms outstretched with his chest parallel to the ground as gravity took hold in the plummet. Time had that curious turn where everything seemed to happen in slow motion. A green leaf turned and twisted in front of his eyes, joining him in the fall. When was this? Spike tried to tease it all out. Somehow his body felt … small.

In a sudden rush, time returned to normal and raked him through a bush. Stuck in the branches, Spike struggled against their hold. His voice called out, rather high pitched, like a child, “How did I get down here?” Thrashing in the bush, he caught a glimpse of his hands. Small, wiry little things.

This had to be a dream. With his feet kicked up into the air he stared at two canvas sneakers, one of which had come untied. Yeah, this had to be a dream. Those were some small sneakers on very short legs.

A voice broke out, female, familiar. “Oh my God! Spike! Are you alright?”

The sun blazed down behind the figure bending over to fetch him from the clutches of the bush. He couldn't pick out any features, just a silhouette. “Yeah, momma. I'm ok.”

She lifted him out of the bush and set him down, hands brushing over his bright green t-shirt sporting a rocket ship and his blue jeans. “Oh honey, what the heck did you think you were doing?”

Spike shifted his foot in the dirt and pointed up at the tree above the single story roof line. “I was flyin', mom.”

She inhaled sharply, looking over her shoulder at the ladder leaning against the wall. “Spike! You shouldn't ever go on the roof. And people can't fly.”

He scrunched up his nose, fingers playing against one another. “But momma, you an' dad said I could do anything I wanted.”

Cupping his cheek she shook her head. “Oh my little imp, that's not what we meant. Bodies have limitations, dear. And people don't have wings, so they can't fly.”

He stretched his arms out and went on his tip toes. “I'll grow wings! You'll see, I'll fly someday way up in the stars!”

She sighed. “Spike dear, please don't jump off the roof again.”

“But mom—”

“You could break your neck. And your father won't like hearing about this.”

“Sure he will. I almost did it. I came close to touching the sun this time.”

Hugging him tightly so he could hardly even breathe, she shook her head. “This time? Oh Spike! You're going to scare us to death.”

Lowering his eyes, he muttered. “I'm sorry, momma. Don't die, that sounds scary.”

“We just want you to be safe. Honey, you are fragile, you can get hurt.”

“But I told you, I'm fine.”

She tugged up his pant legs revealing large scrapes on both his knees. The moment the injuries became visible Spike's eyes scrunched up and tears poured down his cheeks. The poor boy began sobbing uncontrollably. Hugging him close, she picked him up. “Ohhh, it's alright. They don't look too deep. Let's get those cleaned up, ok?”

Spike continued to sob, hiccuping as he scrubbed his eyes with the back of his hands. Now seated on the counter in the bathroom, his mother gently cleaned the scrapes and wrapped his knees in bandages. When she finished she leaned down and kissed each one. “Better?”

Still hiccuping, Spike nodded, scrubbing the snot from his nose with his fist.

“That's my brave little boy.” Plucking him off the counter, she held him tight. “Now I mean it, my little dreamer. You keep your feet on the ground.”

No matter what Spike did he couldn't seem to make her face appear. She was a shadow, ever against an obscuring back light. Stranger still, when he looked in the mirror even his own features remained indiscernible. He bowed his head and chewed on a finger. “I'm sorry, momma.”

“Oh honey, you're going to make mistakes. They're going to happen. It's how we learn. I forgive you for scaring me. Just promise me you'll use your head next time and be good boy.”

He grinned at her as she fixed his shirt. Instead of nodding, he shook his head.

She reached out and grabbed him, tickling his wriggling little body as he dissolved into giggles. “You are as stubborn as your father. Alright, go play. Stay on the ground this time!”

He scampered off, eyeing the ladder outside. And of course in no time he lay on the roof watching the clouds drift by. This time he didn't try to jump. “They'll see,” he raised a hand and stared through his spread fingers, “one day … I'm gonna fly.”

A car rumbled up, the engine stopped. Spike gazed down to spy the car in the driveway. “Daddy!” Taking time to climb down the ladder, because his knees were sore now, Spike scampered into the front door of the house eager to tackle his father.

His parent's voices came from the study, the door left only cracked. Spike slowed and peered through, listening.

“I tried to reason with them,” his father, seated in a chair with his elbows on his knees, spoke with a trembling voice, “but they won't take no for an answer.”

His mother knelt down, a hand on his father's shoulder. “There is no way we can give it to them.”

He held up a small drive. “That's why I took it. All of it. There is no other copy. If they get their hands on this … my God … what they could do would be unforgivable!”

“Good. You did the right thing.”

“Did I?” He looked up, and once again Spike cursed his inability to see them as more than mere shadows against the light. “If we don't surrender it and agree to work with them … they're going to take Spike and hold him hostage, force us to comply.”

Outside the door, Spike's head cocked.

She inhaled sharply, backing away. “No! I won't them take our son! They can't!”

He hung his head. “You know they can and they will. You know the lengths they would go to … ” His voice hitched. “What they would do … to him.”

She gripped his shoulders and growled. “That's **not** going to happen to my baby!”

“I wish we'd never stumbled on it. I raced back here not knowing if they had already done it. The only way we can stop this is to run. Find some place they'd never think to look for us. For his sake—you know what they would do, we can't let them take him hostage.”

The door hinges squeaked as Spike pressed through, a small figure standing in the doorway, one foot lightly pressing on the other. “Daddy … what does hostage mean?”

He stopped breathing for a moment before scooping Spike up in his arms. “Don't worry about that, kiddo. It's just a word, ok?”

Nestling into the arm hold, Spike gripped his neck tight. “Daddy, why are you shaking?”

“I had to run home, that's all.”

“But you drove.”

Cupping the back of Spike's head he held him tighter and whispered, “Why do you have to be so perceptive?”

His mother tried to break the tension. “Your son tried to fly off the roof today.”

He released a breath and held Spike back. “What were you thinking?”

“That it's not fair that only birds get to do that.”

He shook his head. “You'll turn our hair gray with ideas like that. Now … listen to me, son. There are some changes coming. I need you to roll with them, ok? Can you do that for me?”

“What kind of changes?”

“We're … we're gonna have to fly somewhere.”

Spike grinned and pointed at his mother. “See? See! I told you, people can fly.”

His father stood up, carrying him against his shoulder. “Let's go pack up your room, ok big guy?”

“Can we take the telescope?”

“Sure.” He'd hesitated. “If you can help me box it up quickly.”

As they passed through the door, Spike heard his mother start to cry. He reached out a hand over his father's shoulder and called out, “Mom!”

Spike blinked at the prison cell. He sat in his bunk drenched in a cold sweat with his hand outstretched and the echo of his voice—that singular word. His eyes shifted. He'd said it aloud?

_Oh no … Jet!_

Leaning over, he peered to the bunk below. Jet lay sound asleep beneath his blanket. With relief, Spike flopped back down and stared at the ceiling. His mind turned the strange lucid dream around and around. Where had it come from? He didn't remember it from before. It was vivid—too vivid. Like a … _memory?_ … his heartbeat raced. What had he said to Jet earlier? There'd been a time when he'd been incredibly naive? That place had not been the apartment in Deseado. That had been … before.

What had Spike missed?

* * *

“Alright Jet, where's Spike? Did they leave him up there?” Faye gripped the common's divider bars as Jet ambled over, hands in his pockets.

He turned his back to the bars and leaned against them. “He'll be along. Said he wanted to get an eye on something. So, did you have any luck?”

She shook her head. “About the amount I have with the ponies.”

Groaning, Jet folded his arms. “Not encouraging. I didn't either. All of the doors are well guarded by regular, overlapping patrols.”

Something felt a bit off to Faye this morning, like being watched. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Violet trying not to draw attention to herself, her bruised eyes glancing their way every now and again. Amateur.

“Well,” Faye turned her attention back to Jet, “we're going to have to find a way through the locking mechanisms.”

Jet rolled his eyes and grunted. “Not possible.”

“Oh come on, every lock can be picked.”

“Not these ones.” Spike strode up, hands in his pockets and leaned against the bars. “G-26 RT4 Sec models. Government issue. They run on a hardcore series of metrics.”

Faye crossed her arms. “I've heard that name before, I know you've outwitted this model.”

“In the syndicate with the right equipment, yeah. Took me less than a minute.” He glanced her way and shook his head. “Barehanded? Never. Can't be done.”

Setting his head back against the bars Jet grumbled, “If we had Ed … ”

Spike finished for him, “She'd make swiss cheese of the code. But without her and the aid of a computer it won't happen. Not to mention, these things.” He flashed one of his cuffs. “Even if we got our hands on a guard's pass badge I doubt it would work as long we have these things on. And if it did we'd have another problem.”

Jet and Faye cocked their eyebrows, waiting.

Spike shifted his eyes up to a small device mounted high up on the divider bars, it looked rather like a caged in light, but without a bulb. He pointed to several more of them scattered all over the floors. “I'd bet every woolong I ever raked in that there are trackers in these.” He rattled the cuff.

With a start Jet rubbed his head. “That's right, back in the office on Pluto before they took that collar off of you. The guards said they'd had to track your signal.”

Hanging his head from the memory, Spike's voice graveled a bit. He had to fight every fiber of his being not to shudder. “Trust me, I know that damn thing had a tracker. They used it several times. That wasn't the only one. There was no evading it no matter what I'd tried. However, it did require an active search. I'd bet this system works the same. Those are the search towers for triangulations, they were all over Quidlivun Cavus too.”

At the name, Violet gasped. The moment Spike's eyes cast toward her she jerked back, staring at nothing. Too late, he'd spotted her grape-like nose and double shiners. He'd hand it to Faye, she'd done a nice job leaving an impression.

“So?” Faye tugged on her own cuff. “How do we outwit this?”

Jet watched as Spike's gaze cast down to the floor, his eyes closed. From that much, Jet knew. “We don't. Shit … and here I thought you'd have good news.”

“Eighteen doors to bypass with a system we'd have to make ourselves invisible too. Unless you can find a way to get these death cuffs off, it's a suicide run.”

Faye pulled the hair out her eyes. “What if we recruited a guard?”

Spike snorted.

“What? It could happen. Everyone has their price.”

Turning to face her Jet waved a hand. “What would we use as leverage?”

“I uhh … well ...” She attempted a seductive pose. When the guys both laughed, she glanced down at the shapeless baggy jumpsuit.

Spike gave a cocky grin. “Why don't I just have a nice chat with the warden. He seems reasonable.”

Her mood soured. “Oh for Pete's sake!”

Jet held a hand up. “Not to say that we shouldn't be open to possibilities. Although I'm pretty certain that the warden is uhhh … ”

“A soulless sadistic psychopath?” Spike eyed him sideways. “Vicious and Callus would have been best buddies. Same twisted mind.”

Both Jet and Faye cringed. “That's not good.”

“No. It's not and that's what worries me.”

Faye reached a hand through and touched Spike's shoulder. “Hey, how are you holding up?”

He shrugged her off. “Doing what I have to, alright?” His eyes glanced toward the cage. “It's odd. Usually they started already.”

A rather timid voice spoke up. “Not your side's day.” Violet's bruised eyes glanced at Spike before she flashed them back to her and Faye's side of the bars. “It's ours.”

Stepping up on the cross bar, both Spike and Jet glimpsed a similar cage on the female inmates side. This certainly explained why more of the guys than usual were hanging close to the divider. “Shit. Callus made it sound like he was going to make me pay today. That clever fucker. That's a shrewd interrogation tactic. Make 'em unsure when the next blow is coming. Vicious and I pulled that outta the bag every time we had a tough guy who was convinced he'd never break. Worked every damn time. Makes me wonder … was he in a syndicate?”

Jet glanced at Violet, his eyebrow raised toward Faye. She glared over her way and snapped. “Yeah Jet, this is my cellmate.”

He nodded to Violet. “My condolences.”

The door to the cage on the woman's side opened up and two prisoner's were escorted inside by female guards. One rather scarred up fighter with a blood stained jumpsuit entered to cheers. Her opponent's attire looked newer, less torn. But there was fear in her eyes that read clear to those who could spot it. At the bell they leapt at one another, punching and kicking. Blood and sweat mingled to the halted cries aborted by fists impacting flesh.

Faye backed up against the bars. “I can't believe they are condoning this.”

Spike flicked a glance to the guards on both sides. “Why wouldn't they? Blood sport is their entertainment. And since we don't have a choice, they can match up whatever they like. Rig the odds.”

“This isn't a gambling casino. Those aren't cards or dice or a roulette ball. These are lives!”

“I think they know that, Faye.” At that moment the weaker fighter dragged her nails down the side of the scarred one's neck leaving behind long bloody welts. Spike cringed. “And that is why I don't fight girls if I can help it.”

Jet, Faye and even Violet all turned and looked at him.

He shrugged. “Seriously. Getting clawed in the middle of a fight sucks.”

Faye blinked. “I didn't even think about it, but I'd never seen you fight against a woman.”

Blush rose to his cheeks, he bowed his head to hide it. “Oh … I did, a couple times in the syndicate. One of those wasn't a pleasant outcome at all.” And that didn't count his bout with Elektra. He'd never count that one—she didn't fight like a … well … girl. Elektra was a soldier through and through.

Faye coughed a laugh. “You were beaten by a woman?”

“A White Tiger bitch got the drop on me. Ripped the shit out of me and left me with a compound fracture of my humerus.” He gripped his left upper arm. “Kept me bed ridden for a bit. Wasn't just my arm she nailed. Thanks to a stab wound in my leg and set of broken ribs I was in a world of pain. Lot of pins and screws and a very surly surgeon when those babies came back out. No anesthesia for that part. He made sure I remembered my stupidity, guess they had to wake him up for the initial procedure when they dragged me in.”

Violet's eyes widened as Jet cuffed Spike's head and he just took it without striking back. “Clearly the lesson didn't stick.”

Spike chuckled, head tucked for a moment before he shrugged. “I did get her back. Took me a while to figure out who she was … I mean, I did have a rough night of things. Getting caught up in my own explosion of the house wasn't part of the plans.” He rolled his eyes. “Nor had actually going into the house in the first place. I was just gonna hit the C-4 from the outside, but Vicious had to go and bruise my ego right before the hit … ”

Jet groaned.

“Yeah yeah … I know. Typical.” He sighed. “I rushed in and things went spectacularly wrong.”

“So it isn't just with us.”

“No, Jet. You didn't get exclusive rights to my impulsive side.”

He folded his arms and grumbled. “That's reassuring, pard.”

The cage door opened and the guards hauled out the limp, bleeding body of the loser. Spike could tell by the flow that her heart had stopped. If it hadn't, the torn carotid would still be spurting. The scarred fighter stepped out of the door and roared her victory as the next match was set up. She wasn't taken out of the commons at all. That annoyed Spike considering how he was body slammed and hauled out after his. But still, it bothered Spike for another reason. “Heh. Your side has death matches too.”

Faye shook her head. “We have got to get out of here.”


	11. Session 11

_ **Session 11** _

Cindy set her notepad aside. She reached up and scrubbed the bridge of her nose as she looked at the juvenile delinquents sitting in the circle of chairs. She had certainly encountered some strange ones, but her bewildered eyes locked on the orange haired girl sitting cross-legged in the chair and grinning like the Cheshire cat. “Umm, Ed … no that would not be an appropriate response.”

She rocked back and forth as the other juvie's eyed her. “Course it is. That's how Faye-Faye handles things. She says it's a finders-keepers thing, especially when she raids Spike-person's cigarette stash or where he hides his whiskey. She **finds** it where Spike **keeps** it, so it's hers.”

Cindy blinked down at her own name badge ensuring it still said Counselor on it. “And this was precisely why you were removed from their influence.”

“Ohh.” Ed leaned forward, “Then Spike-person finds out about it and the two of them take out their guns and then Jet turns into a sour puss and gets real mad cause they put holes in the ship again.”

Feeling a bit lightheaded, Cindy waved her hands. “At no time is it appropriate to wave a gun in the air!”

“It is when you're trying to get someone before they get you. But Spike-person is rather strict about that one. He says not to aim the open end at something you don't want riddled with holes—except Faye, she's the exception.”

“And just how long were you with these … uhh … ”

Ed smiled and threw her hands in the air. “Cowboys! Yeee haww! Jet and Spike were cowboys. Faye-Faye and Ed were cowgirls. And Ein was a cow-woof-woof. He says he's the smartest crew member, Faye says, oh please. But it's true.”

A couple of the teenagers started to chuckle as Cindy's jaw hung loose and she just managed a little gurgling sound.

Riley leaned forward. “So this Ein … he's a dog, right?”

She nodded. “Ein says he's a corgi, or he was before some bad men did stuff to him and made him all smart.”

“Dog's can't talk.”

“Ein does. And he's real clever. He tells the best jokes, but nobody else ever laughs.” She pondered this for a moment before shrugging. “Spike-person tries to laugh, but he's got problems. Ein knows that cause he says Spike cries at night sometimes and doesn't want anyone to know about it. But Ed does, because when we got attacked by these gigantic robotic dinosaurs on the asteroid of death Ed hit her head and got real scared. Spike talked to Ed about bad stuff and dreams and how he makes those bad dreams his bitch!”

Cindy stood up, a tense smile on her face. “Alright! I think we're done for today.”

“Awww.” Ed hung a finger from her mouth. “Ed was just getting to the good part.”

Pausing at the door to the meeting room Cindy patted herself down. “Umm, has anyone seen my glasses? I thought I had them when I came in here today?”

By that time the group session was in disarray, all her subjects having left their chairs to wander through the detention center. Cindy didn't have a single hope of getting their attention now. She glanced up at Jeff, the security guard at the front desk. “Hey, didn't I have my glasses when I came in? You know, the wire rim ones?”

“I think so. Why?”

Clutching her files and notepad to her chest, she shook her head. “I think I'm losing it. My God, to hear the things that Ed has to say. I'm starting to believe she's telling the truth. No one has an imagination that crazy.”

He eyed her sideways. “The intelligent talking dog again?”

She nodded.

“Yeah, why don't you take a few days off. It's not like these little savages are going anywhere. They'll be here when you get back.”

“Right. Think I'll take a trip out to that resort on Europa.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Ehh, you do know the portals are closed.”

“Why?”

“The Europa pox is spreading. So it might be wiser to stay on Ganymede for now.”

“Right, I forgot about that.” Cindy rubbed the back of her neck. “Thanks Jeff.”

He buzzed her out. A moment later, Ed came wandering by whistling a tune. She'd rolled up the pant legs of her jumpsuit to roughly halfway up her calves and padded through barefoot. In the group cell, Ed flopped down on her bunk. No one was in here during the day if they didn't have to be. She reached down along the side of the wall and pulled out a small narrow box. Smiling, she opened the lid. Inside lay various scavenged items; a couple barrettes, a small assortment of batteries, a busted TV remote that Jeff had thrown away. She added a pair of wire rim glasses and closed the box, re-securing it in her hiding place.

Laying back she closed her eyes and tucked her hands behind her head. She almost had everything she needed. Then it would be time to see what they all did … when things didn't work as planned.

* * *

Jet leaned against the bars wondering what the day was going to hold. The prisoners mingled around with the usual morning energy, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. After a relatively restless night, Spike sat against the divider, elbows on his knees. “Damn it, could really use a shot of whiskey... hell, I'd settle for a beer.”

“Well partner, I don't think they serve that in the cafeteria.”

“I know.” Spike sighed.

“Look on the bright side, you got to eat dinner there yesterday.”

“So nice of our captor to let me stay out for the whole day. Didn't change the quality of the food. Still tasted like shit.”

Jet lifted a shoulder. “Yeah, what do you think about your chances today?”

“Of staying out?” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “Not a chance. The dick move is to let the subject feel what you are denying them. I've had my taste.”

Motion caught Jet's eyes, he cocked a brow. “Ehh? What the heck is Faye doing?”

Spike followed the gaze to find Faye on the other side of the bars sidling up toward one of the guards on their side. She coyly looked through a cascade of her hair escaping from an improvised head band, which looked to be nothing more than a strip torn from a pillowcase. She'd undone several buttons on her jumpsuit and shed the top of it, tying the sleeves around her waist in a make-shifted belt. This pulled the edges of the plain white t-shirt tighter to her form in a rather vain attempt to be fashionable. The effect was unflattering at best, especially where the black bars of the prison tattoos marred the skin on her neck and left forearm. Spike glanced at the guard she targeted and rolled his eyes. “Oh, not him.”

“Why?”

“Heh, Faye sure knows how to pick 'em. That bastard doesn't look like much, but he volunteered for both of my extractions from the cage. Gets fairly rough about it, too. I doubt she's his kind of entertainment.”

Jet's brow furrowed. “So, her odds?”

“On Bloodthirsty? Heh. 5-1, not in her favor.”

“That good.”

“Well, she does have _some_ skill in this game.”

Flashing her come-hither eyes at the guard, Faye leaned forward and reached through the bars, her fingers lightly caressed the mark's shoulder, playing with the button on his shoulder strap. He glanced at her blandly and took a step away from the bars to maintain distance. His arms remained crossed over his chest. Not getting the attention she sought. Faye tried pouring it on harder, leaning against the bars more. In her normal attire she would have cut a rather seductive figure. “Gee, it's awfully lonely on this side. Sure could use a big, strong man over here.”

He spat at the floor and flicked his eyes. “You got plenty of company over there. Besides, only bitches are allowed on that side. You blind? Even your guards are broads.”

Tugging the hair behind her ear, she didn't react to the insult. “Don't you ever feel … lonely?”

Raising his left hand he flashed a ring. “Nope. Cause every night, unlike you, I get to go home.” He moved off from the bars, whistling a tune as Faye soured.

Spike pushed up from where he'd been sitting and sauntered over to her. “Smooth, Faye. Real smooth.”

“I didn't know anyone would marry a thug like that! Besides, a ring doesn't always matter.” Her cheeks flushed with anger. “That trick usually works.”

“Sure,” Spike lifted a shoulder, “but you missed one important thing. You're an inmate here. Which means in this place, in _his_ eyes, you're nothing more than a mere poker chip.”

Faye reached through the bars and grabbed his collar, pulling him hard against the barrier. His cocky grin never faded. He'd let her do it. “You asshole! Say that again and I'll pound you into the ground!” The women inmates watched in awe as Faye's teeth ground. Many of them backed away from her proximity. Reputation was everything.

This close he just had to whisper. “But to me, who knows better—that makes you a sure bet.”

She blinked and let go of his collar, jaw hanging a bit loose.

“Save it, Faye. Trust me.”

She stared into his eyes, the same look of confidence he'd had on the cruise ship the night they swore they were going win. Confidence that they had this. The odds had been against them many times before, and they'd managed to pull it out. She smiled, closing her eyes imagining being in that other place. “Wish we were still on that star liner. You know? Feasting on the fine cuisine instead of whatever that slop is on our plates?”

Spike chuckled. “Is it odd that as miserable as that whole trip was for me even I wish we were back there? At least the mystery meals on that ship weren't half as nauseating as here.”

Beside Faye, Violet rose to her feet glancing between the two of them. “Star liner? Wait, what were you two up to?”

Faye polished her nails. “Undercover operation. A real first class show. Fancy clothes, fine food, excellent company.”

“Not quite how I remember your little half-cooked con,” Spike hooded his eyes. “More like tight shoes, weird stuff on plates in a wasteful artistic flare, and stuffy judgmental jerks who all happened to be our suspects.”

“You classless lunkhead!”

Violet held her breath, shifting back. But after a moment when Spike only offered Faye a crooked grin she leaned closer to the bars. “Wait, you're just gonna take that?”

He chuckled and shrugged. “This is Faye. She's done worse to me.” His grin intensified. “I've done worse to her.”

Jet wandered closer and glared at the two of them. “Don't get them started. The amount of damage to my ship with their antics … !”

“Oh come on, Jet!” Faye waved a hand. “You're not still sore about the bullet holes.”

His eyebrow twitched.

Spike shook his head. “I would say that's a yes.”

“I was aiming for Spike!”

Jet pumped a fist. “And if you'd hit him I'd have been pulling those bullets out of flesh instead of metal deck plates.”

Spike smothered his laughter in his hand. That didn't last long.

A commotion broke out. The hinges squealed as the cage door on their side opened. A battered man in a tattered jumpsuit struggled as two guards manhandled him toward the cage. He was already bloody, in his frantic struggling wounds reopened from two days ago. His scarred opponent entered the cage, a sickened expression on his face.

The frantic cries of the injured man cut through the room, he was another who looked like a feeble white-collar, a miracle he had lasted even one fight. “Noooo! My sentence is almost up! Don't do this to me now!”

Everyone turned to watch, the guards raised little devices to log their bets. Clearly this opener would be a one-sided death match.

This wasn't fair. “Shit.” Spike's fist pumped.

“Spike … ” Jet's stern voice echoed in his ear.

But it did nothing to stop anything. A clear path lay before Spike. Without another thought, he charged through and skidded across the floor, kicking the closest guard's feet from under him. The guard went down hard with a startled cry. The other lost his balance and fell in the shock of this unexpected collision. Their victim scrambled to his feet, holding his bleeding side as he vanished into the surrounding prisoners. Spike drove a fist into the first guard's prone gut … the bloodthirsty guard that had been Faye's mark.

It was the last shot he got in. The other ambushed guard tackled Spike just as several backup guards dog-piled on him. One of the guards aimed his remote, prepared to push the button. A shout from the senior guard aborted his attempt. “Don't! Warden's orders!”

As Spike thrashed against them he found it impossible to get out from under the eight men forcing him to the ground. Particularly the knee to the middle of his back.

A loudspeaker crackled to life. Warden Callus's voice sounded tinny through the air. “Number 240594126.”

Spike roared up at the third story to make sure he was heard. “I see you have my designation memorized!” 

The speaker crackled. “He said you'd be trouble. You just don't learn, do you?”

“Yeah, I'm a stubborn son of a bitch! Better problem than being a psychotic asshole!”

Though the senior guard was the one pressing his knee against Spike's back, his hand lifted to his ear com and he nodded. “Understood sir.” He gestured to three of the other guards on the periphery. “Boss says he stays conscious. Wants him to watch this.”

“Watch what?” Spike hissed as they hauled him to his feet and dragged him over toward a pole bolted into the floor with a welded ring hanging just below waist height. Despite his efforts to break free, the guards forced his cuffs together and locked them behind his back, trapped through the steel ring. Spike was strong, and fit to be tied. But no amount of human muscle could overcome an electromagnet once it engaged. 

The guards stepped back. Anger overcoming sense, Spike pulled as hard as he could, straining in the pointless task. The other inmates remained hushed, backing away. The guard that Spike had hit wiped blood from his face where he had struck the ground, he glared at the senior guard who nodded. Bloodthirsty drew back a fist and drove it right into Spike's exposed gut with a solid thwack! The blow knocked the wind out of him, left him sagging against the restraint gasping for air.

“Number 240594126, I warned you that disappointing me would lead to consequences. You apparently still feel you have some autonomy here. In an odd way you do. Allow me to demonstrate for you. Guards.”

Spike gritted his teeth and looked up, recovering enough to get back to his feet. “Fine! I can take a beating!”

But the guards walked past him. In a moment Spike heard two alarmed voices. Familiar ones. He whipped his gaze up to see Jet being hauled toward the cage. Through the crowd on the other side, Faye was being jostled toward the door, scrambling the whole time against three guards.

The hinges screamed shut, locking them inside their respective cages. 

Spike's heartbeat throbbed in his voice. “What are you doing?”

“I told you. There are consequences. Your disobedience volunteered your shipmates for the matches.”

Faye pounded her fists on the barrier. “Spike! I'm gonna kill you!”

At the moment Jet was alone in the ring, as was Faye in hers. Spike's position afforded him a view of both cages with a turn of the head. He snarled back at Callus, staring at Jet's worried eyes. “Well coward, you just screwed up! They're no fresh meat. They're both fighters.

Callus laughed through the speaker. “You are an animal, sacrificing them like this. Oh, this will be the highlight of my day … selecting their first opponents.”

The joy in his voice ran ice water through Spike's veins. It was bad enough when the focus had been on him. Not them too. Panic seized him. He thrashed and grunted trying to break free from the steel ring. But with his arms wrenched behind his back not even able to stand all the way upright, Spike's most powerful weapon had been nullified. His ability to fight. Now he only had his voice. Which more often than not only served to dig the hole deeper. “It's not me! This is all on you, dickhead!”

“Go on.” Callus barked. “Wear yourself out against the metal. It'll only make your fight at the end of the day more entertaining. I suggest you save yourself for it—if you want any chance of making it back to your cell alive.”

Spike glared up at the third floor platform at the two beady eyes staring down. He mastered his breathing, loathing how the man was right. There wasn't a damn thing Spike could do now. He had to just trust that everything would work out. Jet and Faye were fighters. They could handle this—he hoped. 


	12. Session 12

_ **Session 12** _

Faye swallowed as the guards on her side pushed a scarred up fighter into the cage. Her opponent sported faded prison tattoos betraying she'd been here a while and subjected to numerous bouts. Worse, she looked like she had been a bodybuilder and could probably bench press a car.

Still, Faye took a deep breath as the latch closed. She knew she didn't look like much, but hadn't she taken down some pretty sizable thugs before? Standing in a loose stance with her hands up she waited for the bell. The bets from the guards were already firing through. The cheering already started, “Ripper! Ripper! Ripper!” That name was a little unsettling.

From Spike's unfortunate position cuffed to the damn steel post, he watched her with narrowed eyes. “You got this, Faye! I know you do!” In truth it didn't matter that they had restrained him. Not for her fight. What could he possibly do from his side of the prison anyway? Once again this was a damn power display as he realized that anyone, guard or inmate alike, could take a lucky shot at him and there was little he could do about it. The only thing keeping that from happening was a circle of guards posted by the senior guard.

Even where Jet stood, he gripped the bars of his fight cage trying to steel himself. The dried blood on the mat churned his gut. They'd all been separated now, left to the mercy of some blood-sick bastard who had no right being a government warden. He stared at Faye and joined Spike's call, “Show 'em how it's done, girl!”

Faye shifted her weight back and forth realizing that she lacked the low heeled shoes that could fracture bone with the right angle. The soft shoes she now wore would hardly even cushion the strikes. It would be like fighting barefoot. Now she wished she'd taken the time to pull the sleeves of her jumpsuit back on, but it was too late.

The bell rung.

Ripper smiled and drove fist forward at Faye. Swiftly, Faye evaded spinning off to the side, she was the smaller target and she was going to use that advantage. Luckily Ripper's fist slammed into the bars behind her. Faye brought her elbow into the exposed back, low into a kidney shot. She was rewarded with a scream.

Coming back into a guarded posture, Faye flashed a grin at her opponent's bloody knuckles. “First blood and first scream. And you looked so confident.”

Ripper snarled. “I'll make you eat those words, pixie!” She charged like a bull, leading with her other fist.

Faye tucked down low and just at the last moment vaulted over her using her shoulder. She cheered her own victory. “Haa....ahhhh!”

Ripper could move faster than she'd anticipated. She grabbed onto Faye's wrist and wrenched her forward. Off balance, Faye rolled onto her back and looked up into her wild eyes. A fist pounded into her shoulder. Faye felt the pressure, but not the pain. Sweet adrenaline.

She slammed her feet against Ripper's chest and pushed. The weight of her muscle was too much to gain more than a fraction. Swinging her wrist, Faye connected the cuff with Ripper's temple. Suddenly the weight flung backward as she cried from the impact. It sent her staggering backward as Faye rolled to her feet.

The bell had not rung. And Faye knew, unless there was a death, the matches didn't end until that knell. Not wasting the advantage, Faye dashed forward and brought her foot up into Ripper's crotch. Sure, the shot worked better on guys, but that didn't mean the classic low blow wasn't effective on women.

Doubling over, the Ripper gasped but her hand seized Faye's left wrist, digging nails into her bare flesh and drawing blood in long deep streaks. Now her name made sense.

Faye hissed out a breath and accompanied by a scream of rage rammed her knee up into the Ripper's face. This time the weight shifted backward from the blow, her eyes glazing over.

Panting for breath, Faye struck Ripper's falling head on the other side, bashing the cuff against the other temple. Limp, Ripper fell to the mat to the ring of the bell. She wasn't dead, but after that many blows to the head she wouldn't be getting up soon.

Faye backed away, still gasping for breath as she let the tension drain from her limbs. Trickles of blood flowed down her arm. Her shoulder promised to hurt later. But … she stood. The eyes on the outside of the cage widened.

She heard Spike laughing over the wild cheers. “Nice move, Callus! Never under-estimate a pixie! They get better leverage, it's called physics.”

A guard opened the door and dragged Ripper out. “Damn it, just lost a shitload on that round.”

That rankled Faye, the very thought of her being bet upon like some pony. She didn't want to be a pony! A couple guards grabbed Faye and shoved her back out to the main commons. As soon as she was free to, she made her way toward the divider as close as she could get to Jet. He stood against the bars with a crooked smile on his face. As of yet he was still alone.

She reached through the main divider, though it was far from being able to reach him. “Jet, you can do this.”

He narrowed his eyes as the guards escorted a rather burly prisoner toward the door.

Once more Spike's snide voice broke over the crowd. “Someone is about to become the Black Dog's chew toy.”

The door latch closed and Jet's opponent pounded a fist against his palm. This guy's tattoos were faded to dull gray stripes visible beneath a very tattered jumpsuit. A scar over his eye caught Jet's attention even before the man spoke. “It's been years since you threw my ass in the clink, copper. You have no idea how thrilled I am to have the Black Dog in this ring now.”

The crowd cheered out, “Gatling! Gatling!”

Jet furrowed his brow. It had been a long time, back when he'd been in the ISSP. He remembered Gatling alright, though that wasn't his real name, just what he was called thanks to his MO of leveling buildings with excessive firepower. Fortunately, he had no gun in here.

Gatling raised a hand. “I'm gonna rip that arm of yours straight off and beat you to death with it.”

Settling into a wide stance, Jet smirked. “I'd like to see you try, scumbag.”

Gatling laughed.

The instant the bell rang Jet charged. Leading with his metal shoulder he connected with Gatling's gut. The two were close to the same weight, but Jet's momentum lent him power as he drove Gatling's back against the bars in an expulsion of air.

Jet backed up enough to sweep his hand up into a throat grab. Gatling's first attempts to break free were the logical pounding on the arm. Rather ineffective against a metal limb with no nerves. Panic invaded his eyes as the air supply was cut short. He rasped a breath. Abandoning the method of pounding on nerveless metal he kicked Jet in the gut, not once, but twice.

That had the desired effect. Jet released him and backed up, holding his stomach with a groan.

Gatling didn't recover immediately, he gripped his bruised neck and staggered backward, rasping each breath. He pointed a shaky hand. “I've waited … too long … for revenge … to give up … now!” Throwing it all away, Gatling surged toward Jet and pummeled him in a series of blows.

Jet shielded himself with his arms, shifting backward he drew Gatling closer. Desperation made a man's aim reckless. Gatling was about as desperate to draw blood as he could get.

Blocking with his right arm, Jet drew his left back pumping the metal fist. He withdrew his block and shifted out of the path. The man fell forward with nothing to receive his blow. Jet's fist slammed down into the back of his head.

Instantly Gatling fell, drool trickling from his open mouth even before he hit the mat.

Ding!

Spike and Faye threw their heads back and cheered. Jet's heartbeat pounded in his ears as the door opened and the guards entered. He faced the bars and held his hands up to show he wasn't about to try anything. They dragged Gatling out before they let him leave. Once out in the commons he tried to make his way toward where they had Spike restrained. But the moment he tried, the guards blocked his way, herding him off aggressively

Spike's eyes followed him, staring through his hair as Jet shifted through the inmates. Spike offered a sheepish grin.

But the day had only begun. Hours of standing, unable to rest against the pull of the cuffs wore on Spike. It was a miserable height, not quite able to stand upright, no where's near able to sit, leaving a strain on his shoulders and lower back. His bruised stomach from the guard's blow wasn't helping any. Fight after fight played out in the cage almost like watching video game rounds. Most were knock-outs. A few death matches. His heart just about stopped when the man he'd tried to save from the cage was dragged out … or rather his corpse was.

The fatigue built even though he had long since abandoned straining against the cuffs. His legs trembled. His head bowed. Entire muscle groups protested the forced posture.

At last the senior guard approached and released the electromagnet. Spike staggered forward, a couple guards grabbed his aching arms and dragged him toward the cage before he could gather much of anything.

Callus's voice crackled over the com. “And now for the main event. It was a bit later today. But I think this spectacle will be worth the wait.”

Spike rubbed his shoulders one at a time assessing what the restriction had accomplished. This fatigue was going to alter things considerably. But it's not like he hadn't been through similar things before. Damn it, hadn't he been trained to push through?

The door opened and Spike's opponent walked through. A wiry man who had been in here sometime by the faded prison tattoo and ridged scar lines. He moved with the measured grace of a skilled fighter, assuming the starting posture of a master. But when he smiled, he was missing some teeth.

Outside the cage, Jet and Faye stood on either side of the divider watching. “He'll be ok.” Jet muttered.

Around them the inmates began to chant. “Cobra!” “Hellhound!” “Cobra!” “Hellhound!”

Faye blinked. “Cobra? Uhhh, Jet, that doesn't sound good.”

“Spike's got this.”

“Are you sure? He's kinda wobbly.”

Spike leaned back on his rear leg. The overused muscles were tired. His shoulders already cramping. His reaction time would be stunted. He knew he didn't have enough for a lengthy bout. So this was going to take a swift drop shot, if he could make it. He wouldn't have the time to learn his opponent's style.

Cobra, as it seemed he was called, pressed his palms together before he widened them into a guard. Shit, yeah, this guy wasn't a poser.

Spike left his arms at his sides, watching, waiting for the bell.

Ding!

In an instant Cobra rushed in, going for a low palm strike. Spike shifted backward and deflected with a low cross guard, but it wasn't fast enough to fully evade. The palm struck the edge of his bruised gut. He grunted, but brought his own elbow down onto Cobra's now exposed back between the shoulder blades shoving him down toward the mat.

Cobra recovered in a mad scramble, better than Spike did. Left unbalanced on burning muscles, Spike staggered back against the bars. Cobra rushed toward him with a sweep kick.

Not left with many options, Spike attempted to jump over it. He cleared it, but his outstretched arm became a trap as Cobra seized it and threw his weight backward, dragging Spike into an over the shoulder roll.

Cobra didn't let go of Spike's wrist. He came upright, standing over Spike and drove a hard fist against his cheek. Spike's head snapped back from the narrowly shy of bone breaking force. Hot blood poured out from the gashed skin, threatening to blind him.

_Shit! This isn't good._ But … deep down Spike knew, he'd been trained for this. He just didn't want to do what he had to do.

In the dire moment, Spike felt it welling in him. All he had to do was let go of any self control … where anything could happen. The thread, as desperately as he'd been holding to it … slipped away.

His eyes snapped open. Instinct took over like lightning—trampling any signal of fatigue or injury. Spike rolled his weight so his feet contacted the mat slamming into Cobra's leg and sending him staggering. The moment Spike had purchase, he surged up from his core, headbutting Cobra in the chin.

While the man was stunned upright on his feet, Spike delivered a hard kick to his sternum. The sound of snapping ribs joined his aborted scream as he slammed backward against the bars. Rolling forward, blood dripped from his open mouth.

Spike heaved each breath, eyes narrowed in case Cobra stood up. Instead his opponent's breath hitched in his chest, releasing the final death rattle. In full survival mode, Spike's head whipped around at the sound of the cage latch.

This was not a light switch he could just turn off.

* * *

The cell door rattled open. Hands cuffed behind his back, the guards shoved Spike inside against the wall. One of the guards slurred through a fat lip, “I'm tellin' ya, we should just leave him bound. See if that takes a bit of the fight out of him.”

“Fuck, you think the warden would like that? The fight is why he likes having him here. Just shut up and put your money on his ass until the boss gets his fill of him. He'll be dead soon enough.”

Still struggling to catch his breath from the match, and the aftermath against the guards, Spike didn't have much left anyway as the hands pressed him against the cold bricks. Blood from his left cheek smeared on the wall. A good amount, no wonder it stung like hell and all he could smell was the iron tang of it. His muscles burned from the full day's punishment. If he hadn't let go and surrendered to pure instinct when he had he wasn't certain he would be walking now. They would have dragged his ass here … no … he was fairly sure he'd simply be a corpse.

They released the cuffs and instantly fled the cell slamming the door behind them before he could move on sore limbs. The moment he turned, he met Callus's cocksure grin on the other side of the bars. “Well now, that was at least entertaining. I relished the moment you released yourself to the beast.”

Rallying what stamina remained, Spike pressed his chest against the bars and clawed out of the cell. His bloody fingers brushing against Callus's suit coat, leaving behind a thin red smear. “Fucking coward! If these bars weren't here—!”

Callus glanced down at the stain and shook his head. “I said you had some autonomy, did I not? Keep it up and I won't even grant you that much.”

Spike shut his eyes tight for a moment, barely holding a thread of his temper back as he choked down the rage. It wouldn't do any good. These bars would not yield. Until he could get on the same side of them as Callus, all his efforts would manage was injuring himself.

“As I said, I simply adore holding high ranked enforcers in my cells. But I am not suicidal enough to stand in the same room as them.”

Snapping, Spike rattled the barred door. “I am not an enforcer anymore!”

Callus continued as if he hadn't said a word. “For all their masterful conditioning, they make the best pit fighters. So skilled at the craft, so easily to control. And all the better when they have … comrades. After all, your initial purpose was to protect, was it not? How is that going to work now, I wonder?”

Stiffening, Spike locked eyes with him. Jet. Faye. The impact of Callus's threat crashed down.

“As a small reward for kicking the ass of that smug prick Cobra, I will overlook what you did to the guards afterward. I clearly need to work on their effectiveness. Their discipline is my next task of the day.” He flashed his teeth. “Now on to our business. Here is how this little game plays out. You behave, keep your hands to yourself out of the cage, fight like the wild beast you are inside it; and all will be well. Your obedience will reflect the matches your comrades will receive. You please me—they will be simple knock-outs with easy opponents.” His brow furrowed. “You try to make waves—it will be death matches against the most Godawful beasts I have locked in here. You know, the ones I currently have reserved for you.”

Spike stared him in the eye, his breathing coming in harsh gasps. No longer from the effects of the fight—but from the sheer willpower it took not to claw at the man.

“You are an instinctual animal. Nothing more than what the syndicate made you. A savage beast and now your incredible power is mine to focus. You kill whomever I put before you just like an order from Mao Yenrai.”

_What's that? There it is again, more syndicate references._ Spike white-knuckled the bars. “Who are you really?”

Callus smiled. “Right now, I am your worst nightmare.”

“Get in line!”

“How amusing it is to watch such spirited prey before they are broken. Animal tamers know how to use muzzles.” Holding up his remote, Callus gave a swift push of the button, his eyes gleaming in delight as Spike took several steps, his eyes widened with dread.

It hadn't been anything intense. Just a tingle on his wrist, barely enough to elicit a muscle response. But more than sufficient to bring forth a cascade of Spike's memories of the shock sticks. His hand trembled as it gripped his left side trying to quell the ghost of that perpetual agony.

Callus flashed a knowing grin and lifted his chin in triumph as he lowered the remote. “Tusk was wrong. You **will** learn—Spike Spiegel.”

Hearing his name spoken jarred him. It was simply not done in prison. Real names humanized. He was certain that's why none of the guards had name badges either, and were very strict about not addressing one another.

“Your reputation always did proceed you.” Callus's eyes narrowed, an old wound pooled in the darkness. “I know who you were. You cannot imagine my delight once I realized your identity and it dawned on me. After all these years I finally get the pleasure of my revenge on the Hellhound, one of the most powerful enforcers ever to serve the Red Dragons. Yenrai's golden boy enforcer.”

“For what? I don't remember you.”

Callus waved a hand. “You wouldn't. We never officially met. But in some way, I suppose I should thank you. I wouldn't be where I am now without what you did. And I so adore my current position where I get to punish with legal backing.” He tossed two packs of cigarettes and a lighter onto the floor. “One is for your friend. He performed well today. You were right, they are fighters after all. I look forward to seeing more from them.”

As Callus moved off, Spike eyed him. He bent down and scooped up the packs. Less than a minute later the door opened and they roughly pushed Jet through and released his cuffs, slamming the door shut behind him.

Staring at his shoes, Spike held out a pack to Jet, unable to met his eyes.

Jet took the offered one from him and exhaled slowly, staring at the blood stains on Spike's jumpsuit blotting out his number. Not an opponent's blood, but his own. “Well, … that could have gone better.” When Spike glanced up he sighed. “You're still bleeding.”

Before answering, Spike pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and tucked the pack away. The lighter still in his hand he muttered, “I know … hey, Jet, I'd prefer it if you didn't watch this.”


	13. Session 13

_ **Session 13** _

The inmates cleared the way as Faye stormed toward the divider, her hair still damp from the morning shower. The nail marks in her arm had stung deeply when she'd scrubbed them. Her shoulder sported the impression of Ripper's knuckles. But that chick was no where to be seen. She spied Jet standing near the division and the closer she got she noticed the focal point of her ire. Spike sat on the floor with his back against the bars, head bowed. Tendrils of smoke drifted into the air from a cigarette. That had been one blessing from the fight. Having won a lighter and a pack of her own, she no longer had to bum smokes from him. Thank goodness for that. 

Right now she wanted to kill him. 

Interrupting Jet, Faye glared down at the back of Spike's head. “You arrogant shithead! How could you be so stupid and reckless?” Yesterday, following his fight, they had been hauled away immediately. Likely because Spike had completely lost it and proceeded to attempt to pound the guards. Logic seemed they didn't want him getting any help. Like Faye would have. “I swear I'm going to claw your eyes out!”

Spike just bowed his head a bit lower. Jet cocked an eyebrow and responded blandly, “Are you finished?”

Faye opened her mouth to say more, but his expression weighted her tongue. 

Clearing his throat, Jet crossed his arms and looked down at Spike. “You need to tell her.”

“Now is not the time,” he mumbled.

Jet's knee nudged his shoulder. “Yes, it is.”

“You heard her, she already wants to kill me … ”

“Spike, tell her what Callus told you. Now.”

He hung his head lower. “Fuck … ”

Faye took a step back at the concern in Jet's eyes. “What is it?”

Spike heaved a sigh, running a hand through his damp hair, apparently today was shower day for both sides. “Yours and Jet's matches depend on my obedience to Callus.”

Immediately Faye grabbed the bars and shook them, or rather tried as they weren't loose. “I'm going to rip that useless head of yours off for this!”

Jet held up a hand. “Calm down, Faye. He doesn't need anything more from you at the moment.”

“The hell he doesn't. Jet, don't you get it? Look around! That psycho warden holds our lives in his hands thanks to Spike volunteering us.”

“I didn't mean to, I just lost my head for a moment.” Spike looked back at her over his left shoulder. 

The breath caught in Faye's chest. She knelt down. “God Spike, what happened to your cheek?”

He winced as she mentioned it, turning away again to hide the wound.

Jet bowed his head. “He cauterized it last night.”

That explained the large burn spread across the ridge of his cheek bone, at the center of it the flesh remained rather raw. “How … ?”

“I can't risk blood loss right now. Nor an infection.” He shifted a shoulder. “It's an old effective trick I learned in the syndicate.”

When he fell silent she looked to Jet, who shifted his gaze to the floor. “He used his lighter to heat one of the cell bars.”

Faye cringed. “Doesn't that hurt more?”

“Yeah, but it's not bleeding. So it did what I needed it to.” He discarded the butt of his cigarette. Something else was bothering him. She noted his eyes were scanning the male inmates in an edgy anticipation. Once again he was reluctant to offer more.

Searching Jet she found the agitation had not faded. This wasn't about the scar on Spike's cheek bone. Something had them both on edge. Jet lowered his voice to a whisper, “That's not the biggest concern.”

Spike whipped a glance up to him. “Don't … !”

Determined, Jet narrowed his gaze back at him before he turned to Faye. “This morning in the showers … ”

It was Spike's turn to cringe as Faye took a step back, cupping her mouth in horror.

“No! No, not that!” Jet waved his hands. “Stay with me here. You remember when that guard socked him in the gut yesterday?” When she nodded, he continued. “Well … you should see the bruise that left behind. I'm surprised Spike's still breathing as well as he is.”

“I'm forcing it.” He hissed through gritted teeth, eyeing them both over his shoulder. “But Jet's right. You could probably read the engraving on his wedding ring embedded in my flesh. The guy's got a solid left hook. Luckily he was too low to nail a rib.”

Jet flicked a glance to the inmates. “The problem is everyone in this morning's shower room rotation saw it.”

Spike ran a hand through his hair. “Remember what I said about weakness?”

It couldn't be overlooked now. The quick glances Spike's way, the whispers and points. Faye inhaled a breath and held it. “Oh shit … they're plotting.”

“How best to take him out.”

“I really hate this part, when the wounds start accumulating and the pot shots begin.” Spike pulled himself up to standing and shook his head. “It's progressing to the downward slide much faster this time.”

“We went through this—as long as they don't break anything … ”

“Comforting, Jet.” Spike half-hooded his eyes. “Now every match I have to guard a rather tender spot so that a lucky shot won't cripple me. This isn't as simple as it sounds. The easy way out is to drop them at the bell. But if I do that Callus won't be entertained and will take it out on you two.”

Faye's heartbeat raced. “Don't do that!”

Jet leveled his gaze at her. “We've been through this, pard. You don't worry about us.”

Pressing against the bars, Faye shook her head. “Jet, are you hearing him? Callus will—”

“All Spike's fights are death matches. Every time he enters that ring he risks not coming back out. The more injuries he sustains, the worse his odds. Yes, Faye, I've been listening to him since last night.” He turned back to Spike. “And I mean it. You worry about yourself in there. Faye and I can handle ourselves.”

Faye's wide eyes stared at Jet, a faint squeal left her throat as she wanted to say more but his stern expression stilled her. She swallowed and bowed her head. “What are we going to do?”

“Survive.” Jet crossed his arms. 

From a group, one of the inmates pushed another out of the way and eyed Spike. A rather hulking mountain of a man who had a mechanical arm from the elbow down, scuffed up metal chipped and dented. His skin bore layers of scars including some fresher ones wreathed in red. 

Spike caught the motion and instantly settled into his devil-may-care demeanor. Both hands in his pockets, mostly to keep from doing anything stupid. Callus's words echoed in his mind.  _ Nothing outside of the cage.  _

Whispers carried enough that he caught the man's nickname. Tombstone. He loomed over Spike glaring down into his eyes. Jet attempted to step forward, but Spike flicked a glance his way and he backed off, reading it loud and clear. 

Tombstone's metal fist clanged against the bar beside Spike's head. “Up close you're nothing but a little maggot. Yet the talk around here is that this … Hellhound is supposed to be the new top dog around here.”

Spike stood calmer than he had any right to appear. “And if I am, so what?”

When he smiled the man's rotten teeth gaped. “I don't like upstarts who come in here and think that a bunch of campfire stories can earn them a reputation.”

Whispers started again in a rush. “Is Tombstone blind? Didn't he see?” “Hellhound came in here with a reputation!” “Maybe that's what Tombstone's after.” “Idiot!” “But think about it, if he does win … ”

It would take less than three inches to head butt the moron into oblivion. But Spike did not move. He stood there, motionless, hands in his pockets staring Tombstone in the eyes. “Stories are for children.”

Tombstone cackled and cracked his knuckles. “Think you're clever, doncha! Well I could snap a twig like you into pieces. See all these?” He pointed to rows of tiny little slash scars organized on the skin of his arm. “My kills in  **that** cage alone.”

“Aren't you an original.” 

His eyes narrowed and he widened his stance. “I mean ta add yah to that total.”

Spike held his ground, but his fist flexed inside his pocket.

The senior guard pointed a remote at Tombstone, his eyes promising as he pushed forward. 

Tombstone took one glance at the raised device and backed up, he turned with a huff and waved his metal hand dismissively. 

Staring up at the third story platform, Spike leaned toward the senior guards mic and growled, “Hope you saw that, Callus! Now keep good on your promise!”

The senior guard pressed a hand to the ear com and after a brief moment he nodded. “Yes sir.” A slow smile began to grow. He drifted off, following Tombstone.

Spike heaved a sigh, and ran a hand through his hair. “Why don't I feel relieved about this?” The rumor mill started churning anew as several of the inmates mimicked swings to the guts of others, playacting his downfall. Spike narrowed his eyes. There was only one way to stop this. 

It was time for a demonstration of his own.

* * *

A slight scraping sound caught Jet's attention from the bunk above. Standing up he peered to find Spike pressing the tip of something in his hand against the wall, leaving behind a short grove at the end of a series of marks. Four in total. Jet rubbed his chin. “What's that about? You know we can't get out that way, it just leads to the next cell. And our neighbors don't seem too social.”

Spike finished and brushed off the debris. “Tombstone was good for one thing. Gave me an idea.”

“To what?”

“Keep a tally, though there's no way I'm doing that on my skin.”

Jet smirked. “Is that what was on his arm? I thought that was a rash. Guy's a masochist.”

“You mean he  _ was _ .” Lifting a shoulder, he shrugged. “In the end I don't feel bad about his mark on the wall. He volunteered himself for it.”

Now the marks made sense: Machete, the unfortunate Spike had tried to make tap out, Cobra, and now Tombstone. “Not sure you should be doing that, Spike-o.”

Eyeing Jet he shifted the cigarette in his mouth. “Really? The victims that Callus made me kill?”

“Ahh, now I get it. But what is that in your hand?”

Spike opened his palm and revealed a small piece of sharpened plastic. “That prick Tombstone tried to shiv me. Luckily the guards aren't that observant during a fight. They didn't catch when I snatched it from his hand.”

“Was that before or after you forced his head through the bars?”

“Before.” Spike tucked the shiv under his pillow. “Not gonna carry this around, don't want to get caught with it. But it still might come in handy.”

Leaning an elbow on the bunk, Jet narrowed his eyes. “I have to know, what the hell was that you did to him?”

Spike sat back against the wall, drawing one knee up he rested his elbow on it and took the cigarette from his mouth. “It's called an internal decapitation.”

Somehow hearing the name made it more unnerving than seeing Spike shove the man head first between the bars. His entire lower body had lost all tension as he screamed out he couldn't feel his own breathing. It had left Spike to lean against the bars grinning as the guards were forced to enter the cage to free Tombstone. Of course the moment they'd grabbed him the screaming stopped. “You made the guards finish him off.”

Spike nodded with a smug grin.

“You knew!”

He chuckled. “Honestly, it's the first time that trick worked for me. I'd tried it before with less than successful results.”

“Gah, why would you want to do it?”

“Well, honestly it wasn't my idea originally. Vicious found out about it and decided to experiment.” He rolled his eyes. “The first few times it failed, spectacularly. He was convinced it should be easier. But the one time it worked—boy was that effective! By our luck it was when we had two hostages withholding intel. He nailed the first guy, who was reduced to Tombstone's state, screaming in terror. All we had to do was line up the sledge on the second and he suddenly was rather forthcoming in the information we were after. Amazing how that happened. Thing is the body can only keep going if the nerves are close enough for the signal to jump. Move it just a fraction and … yeah. Vitals kind of stop working.”

Jet rubbed the back of his neck looking a touch paler. “And you … you just did that on purpose?”

He shrugged. “It worked, didn't it? Did you hear a single sound from the peanut gallery afterward?”

That had been true. An absolute hush had fallen over the entire commons. 

“That prick shouldn't've tried to shiv me.” Spike replaced the cigarette and laid down on his back. “It's all about reputation.”

“Right.” Jet muttered as he settled on his creaking bunk. He had to hand it to him, they'd been worried. And yet all three of their fights had gone off without a hitch. Apparenty Callus had been satisfied. Following Spike's death match once he'd been taken from the cage back to the cell the inmates seemed squeamish. Reputation … damn, his plan worked as all the talk of jumping him came to an abrupt halt. Now most were scared of him. “Yo Spike, you still awake?”

“Mmph.”

Jet rested his head in his hands. “Been listening. There's a bunch of guys calling you the Hellhound.”

“Yeah, well, what about that, Black Dog?”

He heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes at the old moniker. “It's an old name, that's all.”

“Yeah well, Hellhound is just a silly nickname. Not exactly like I picked it.”

“Silly?” Jet raised an eyebrow. “Thing is, a lot of guys are scared to even say it.”

Spike huffed a breath. “Should be, I hated being called that.”

“Why?”

After a short pause, Spike muttered, “When I was still a non-ranked lackey, one of the senior enforcers started calling me that after I saved his ass with a couple of Molotov cocktails. It kinda stuck and I couldn't get rid of it. Besides, I hate dogs, so it annoyed me to be thought as one.”

“Makes sense, I guess.”

“No less ridiculous than Black Dog.”

Jet laughed and closed his eyes. “Yeah, he bites once and doesn't let go.”

Spike made a rude noise. “Really? That why? Guess they don't know mythology.”

“Wha'?”

“The black dog, or the church grim. You see one, means you're gonna die.”

Sitting upright Jet's jaw hung a bit loose. “No shit, that true?”

“Dunno. Never seen one. I'll tell you if I do.”

Silence stretched for some time before the lights shut out for the night. Lying in the darkness Jet's mind kept turning. The amount of fear in the inmates voices plagued him. Granted Spike was undefeated, but still—this sounded like some underworld legend come to life where the details had not been exaggerations. He knew enough by now that Spike had hardly been a run of the mill thug. But still, there were pretty brutish guys shushing others from even mentioning Spike's code name. “Hey Spike, you were an assassin for the Red Dragons.”

The response was slow enough Jet wondered if he'd fallen asleep before his disinterested reply, “I've told you as much.”

“What was your actual kill count?”

Spike sucked on his tongue. “Tsk, how many did you off in the ISSP?”

Jet blinked and stuttered trying to come to a conclusion. He never went out intending to kill, but still it happened. More than he wished. In the end he couldn't be one-hundred percent sure. Besides what was it with this deflecting tactic? “Do you know?”

Again the silence stretched onward, staring into the dark it bothered Jet that he didn't outright answer. Would it be better if he knew right away? Or better if he had no clue? Shit, no response was worse!

Spike heaved a sigh at length. “I wasn't like some lame ass movie villain, leaving at the opportune moment. No … enforcers who pulled that kinda shit ended up getting plugged themselves when a mark showed up later with a pulse. Frequently those morons ended up on _my_ hit list. So yeah, I watched. I checked. And then I got rid of the evidence. There's no tally wall to show it, but I know.”

Something about the deadpan delivery of that confession bothered him. “I don't like the tone in your voice, pard.”

“Yeah well, back in those days I had a bad habit of playing with fire. Kinda where the _hell_ part of hellhound came from. Wasn't just cocktails. But word definitely got out that if I got ordered for a hit, shit was gonna get real. It's why Mao leaned on me so heavily as I rose through the ranks. There were rarely any loose ends.”

Jet shuddered a bit, there was certainly a somber tone to his voice. “Plenty of guys used fire. I saw a lot of that as a detective in the force. Sure made cases hard to solve.” The wheels continued to turn in the darkness. Jet narrowed his eyes. “Like, there was this real strange one. Never did manage to solve it. Could say it ended up becoming a mark on my record.”

Spike chuckled. “Thought that no one ever got away.”

“Well … that was the idea.” He shrugged. “But this one … they dubbed it an accident with some squatters as the victims. Nothing to identify them with. But I always felt it was arson. An old factory burnt down. We were called in t investigate because they found the bodies. The weirdest damn place. You'd never believe it. They would have had to have been inside the large mixing tank for some resin. Stuff was recently mixed too. There was bailing wire and a pair of handcuffs over an industrial hook. I just knew this was a homicide. I mean, why would squatters be mixing epoxy resin in an old shut down factory? I'm trying to remember the name of that city on Mars … it was a strange one. Reykholt, I believe? But anyway, who would burn down a factory like that?”

The springs on the mattress above squeaked, but there is no reply. That was odd.

“Spike?” Jet sat up. Minutes passed before he stood up to find Spike facing the wall, a bit stiff.

Jet grabbed Spike's shoulder and rolled him over. There was a light in Spike's eyes reflected from the hallway, the gleam just a little bit twisted into a haunted gaze. His breathing forced. “Looks like **someone** slipped through the Black Dog's jaws.”

Taking a step back, Jet shook his head. “No … no way! You mean I … you … but … ?”

Spike sat up and retreated against the wall. A maelstrom brewing in his eyes.

“What the hell were you doing there?”

He shook his head slowly. “Don't pry. It was personal.”

“Spike—”

He held up a hand. “I mean it. Drop it. I don't like to dwell on that job—ever!”

Jet had known back in those days something was wrong with that site. The cuffs had been newer, the bailing wire, a few pieces of an incendiary device but not enough to identify anything. To think how close he had come to crossing paths with Spike … what would have happened if he actually had? A pit grew in his stomach, souring as he glared at him now. That case had plagued him and his insistence to the chief had led to hot water. No one had wanted to believe him and he'd been right! A syndicate had been involved. Not only that, but one of the biggest ones out there!

Staring up at Spike he pounded a fist on the bunk. “Tell me!”

Spike turned his face away, jaw clenched tight. The same expression Jet had seen before when he'd tried to pry Julia's importance from him. All it ever lead to was obstinate silence. On the ship Spike would take off in the _Swordfish_ and return later like nothing happened. In here, there was nowhere to go.

With a growl Jet flopped down onto his bunk. “Unbelievable!” He stared up at the bottom of the mattress, heat in his eyes. It was going to be a long night.


	14. Session 14

_ **Session 14** _

On the counter in the kitchen the chef set more spoiled food from the fridge and called to Jeff at the front desk, “Seriously, I have no idea what happened. It's not room temp, it's hotter. Fridge's aren't supposed to do this! Gah! That _was_ milk!” He gagged and ran for the bathroom.

“I heard ya, already got the repair guy coming this afternoon.” Jeff called out as he watched the juveniles meandering around. Not much seemed amiss, but with Cindy on vacation they weren't in counseling sessions. Instead some were playing card games, reading or watching TV.

A newscast flicked as a couple were fighting over the remote. _“ … according to President William Brookridge of Europa the ports will remain closed for sometime due to concerns over the spread of the pox. The only ship that had clearance was a science vessel carrying renowned researcher and expert on the virus, Dr. Daniel Nicho Adenine. He was scheduled to arrive yesterday. However repor… ”_ the channel turned leaving the screen to flash a gigantic alien worm bursting through the ground, terrorizing a group of teenagers.

Ed yawned, not in the least bit involved in the program bickering. She padded out to the kitchen and wandered along the counter perusing the abandoned mess of spoiled food. From the doorway, Riley shook his head. “Looks like dinner will be dry cereal without milk tonight. Never seen a fridge break down like that before.”

Of course for Ed, she had been expecting it. The time frame of response to the disruption was slow. Encouraging, actually. And now they were calling in a repair guy. There would of course need to be groceries to replace the spoiled food. All of this information. Blessed information.

Spying a plastic container Ed grinned. “Pudding!” It was warm as she pulled the top off.

Riley's eyes widened. “Uhh, Ed … that's like seriously spoiled!”

Not even grabbing a spoon, Ed plopped the goop into her open mouth and swallowed it with glee. “Mmmm!”

Picking up the discarded container, Riley sniffed it and recoiled. “Gah! Wow... ummm, Ed, you're gonna die.”

She blinked at him. “No, Ed is not. Ed will be just fine.” Sauntering off she took a seat by one of the windows and gazed out the mesh blocking any escape at the sparkling water of the bay. She still didn't know where the building was located on Ganymede. But that would be something to figure out when the time came.

Out of the corner of her eye she spied the others, leaning forward. Her eyebrow raised, “Nyah?”

Riley pointed. “Do you think she looks paler?”

“No. Looks normal to me.” Jessica muttered. “You sure it was spoiled and she swallowed it?”

“Smelled it with my own nose. Saw it with my own eyes. I'm tellin' ya, she'll be dead by morning.”

Chin in the air, Ed declared, “No, Ed will be fine.”

Even as she declared it they leaned closer with wide eyes.

* * *

Faye flashed a cocky smile as she passed by Ripper in the commons. Her previous fight victim had to force two very swollen eyes to remain open, deep bruises on her temples likely meant she had a rather severe headache. A shiver of delight rippled through Faye as she sauntered past savoring Ripper cringing backward and trying to hide in the crowd.

_Yeah, you just stay where you belong!_

Two knockouts in a row were certainly a solid boost to her credibility as a threat. More than a few of the rougher chicks refused to met her eyes. Not that they could keep this up forever, Faye felt the bruise on her shoulder aching beneath her jumpsuit. But for now she seemed to be among the top threats on the female inmates side. If Spike had been right about the way of things that would keep a good deal of messing with her at bay. She'd made a statement and even had her own tailing. Behind her she felt Violet shadowing her every step of the way. Not just her but a collection of other inmates vying for the protection of her association.

Faye lit a cigarette as the way was made open for her towards the population divider. She spotted Spike leaning against the bars, his arms over his head in a long stretch. Probably still working out the kinks from that gut bruiser. It had been a couple days, but even Spike didn't heal that fast. Her brow wrinkled, Jet stood nearby but his back was to Spike and he looked angry, like when someone had put a bullet in his precious ship. Faye knew that expression well.

Coming to the space between them, she leaned against the bars and blinked. Something was very wrong. Spike's eyes were nearly shut, she figured only cracked open because he wouldn't leave himself at risk, even now. Even with the other inmates now holding a healthy regard for their safety from his skills. After Tombstone's rather grizzly demise yesterday there were two expressions noted when the inmates looked at Spike: awe and fear. Those who didn't know Spike would be thinking he was just prepping for the fight. But Faye noted the tension he was trying to shed, it was written on his face, in the grip on the bar extending the stretch. On the ship this would have been Spike escaping into a training routine while Jet barked unanswered questions at him about the collateral damage bill from a less than ideal job.

That assessment was before she looked at Jet. His jaw ground as he stood with crossed arms, one heel rising and falling in a restless rhythm. The vein on his neck popped a bit. Now that was certainly something she'd seen. Great, just what they needed now. Infighting.

“Uhhh, hi guys.”

Spike flicked a glance her way. “Hey.”

Jet just released a growl.

“Alright, what the hell happened.”

“Spike's an asshole.”

Faye cocked an eyebrow. “Pretty sure that's been established.” The fact that Spike didn't even react in the vaguest sense spoke volumes to her. She exhaled through her nose and focused on Jet knowing that getting much out of Spike at this point would be like trying to get blood from a rock. “Alright, what's got your boxers in a bunch?”

Jet glared over his shoulder. “The scumbag is responsible for a crime I never solved!”

“Uhhh,” Faye scratched her head, “what does that have anything to do with anything?”

“My record was nearly flawless until that burnt down factory. My own boss thought I was a fool for insisting it was a multiple homicide.” The vein popped even more as he pumped a fist. “And now to find out it was and the guy responsible slipped though my fingers … ”

Holding up a hand Faye glanced between the seething Jet and the immovable Spike. “What does this have anything to do with now?”

“Everything! All last night I wondered what the hell kind of a guy did I partner with, capable of such twisted shit!” Jet spat out. “Tell me, Spike—Is there anything you **didn't** do as a Red Dragon?”

Spike released his hold on the bar and tucked his hands in his pockets, rolling his eyes away. “Give it a rest.”

“I will not! You're going to tell me what happened at the factory, part-ner! You owe me that.”

“I don't owe you anything.” Spike replied dead level.

“You betrayed me!” Jet slashed the air.

Faye tensed as Spike turned and met his glare. A faint flicker of emotion, but he instantly banished it. “First off, I wasn't your partner back them. I didn't know you even existed. The ISSP didn't know _I_ existed, which was the whole damned point. The partner who betrayed you was—”

“Don't you go there!” Jet's teeth squealed.

“Fad was responsible for your arm.”

He pumped the metal fist.

Faye glanced at the guards. So far they weren't looking this way, their focus on scrolling through the list on their gambling devices. But the growing volume of the argument worried her. “Guys, keep it down!”

“You wanna talk about betrayal, Jet? You're not exclusive to drawing that card. My partner shot my damn eye out and lied about it for over a year trying to claim hero status. Try learning that little detail after risking your life to save his reckless ass repeatedly.”

Jet grunted. “Maybe you deserved it. Did you withhold information from him?”

Spike clamped his jaw shut.

Jet reached for Spike's collar, which he shifted back to avoid the grab. “Tell me what happened at Reykholt.”

“I did my job. That's all you need to know.”

“What kind of a sick twisted job was it that involved epoxy resin?”

Spike narrowed his eyes, hands coming out of his pockets. “My job was to protect the syndicate.”

Reaching through the bars, Faye pressed on Spike's shoulder. “Easy! Calm down … the guards are looking this way. Do you want them to drag you both into the cage?” Spike forced himself to relax, hands back into the safety of his pockets as Faye turned to Jet, “Knock it off. What the hell does this accomplish? We're on the same side.”

Jet huffed. “Clearly we weren't.”

“But,” Faye held up a finger, “you are now. Jet, we need to get out of here and figure out who set us up to be arrested and why. This isn't the time to bicker about past cases, unsolved or otherwise. Remember, poor Ed is in juvenile detention. Think about what could be happening to her while we're here?”

Spike eyed him. “I dunno that he'd care, Faye. Radical Edward was a criminal too.”

Jet shifted away. “She wasn't a homicidal sicko who delighted in torturing information out of people by decapitating them.”

“I told you, that was Vicious.”

He shot a glare over his shoulder. “But you tried.”

Exhaling a long breath, Spike grumbled, “I was a different guy back then. Seriously, just let it go. You know how much it bothers me what I have to do here.”

“A bit late for the guilt trip!” Jet took a few steps away.

As Faye went to follow, Spike touched her shoulder. “He's been stewing in it all night. Just let him go.”

“What the heck is he talking about … what is Reykholt?”

Spike shook his head, looking away. That wasn't shame in his eyes.

There was little time to ponder it as a couple of guys wandered toward Spike. Young punk types that hadn't been in long enough to fully lose the Mohawk hairstyle, but it was growing back.

Noting their proximity, Spike leaned casually against the bars and lit a cigarette watching them work up the courage to approach. At long last, one of them pushed the other forward. “Uhhh Hellhound … sir?”

Exhaling a puff of smoke, Spike rolled his eyes. “I hate that name.”

He darted backward, swallowing and stuttering. “You … you do? … Oh shit … I erf … we just … ummm … ”

Spike sighed. “Spit it out.”

He wrung his hands. “It's just that me and Jacker here were a little worried about, you know … surviving in here? And we were wondering, I mean everyone is talking about you and … ”

The other one stepped up. “What Carl is tryin' to get out is we're not fighters and could really use some pointers from, you know, a real syndicate pro.”

Pulling the cigarette from his mouth, Spike leaned closer and watched them step back, fear blossoming in their eyes. “Then … go find one.”

Jacker's jaw shuddered. “Seriously, Hellhound—”

Spike towered over the young punk as he took cover beneath his hands. “The name's Spike, kid. The Hellhound died a long time ago.” The fact was inescapable. When he looked up, behind them a rather large gathering stood at a distance, awe in their eyes.

_Your reputation always did proceed you._ Spike shifted his gaze over the various thugs and bruisers. Some of them known to him from those by-gone days. His eyes widened as one man broke from the pack and wandered up. He'd been in there a while, not enough for the prison tattoo to fade much, but his clothing was torn and blood stained. Recent scars betrayed his abuse in the cage matches. Dark haired, his storm blue eyes brought back a torrent of memories of the boy he had once been.

“Kieran?”

At his name he bobbed his head slightly before meeting Spike's eyes. “Been ages, Spike. Not since you entered the ranks and left me and the others behind.”

Spike swallowed, damn that had been so long ago. Back then Kieran's voice hadn't even deepened. He'd been shorter than Spike. Now they were close to the same height. He was covered in lean muscle with shaggy hair from being in prison longer than a year. 

Kieran lit a cigarette and flexed his bruised knuckles. “What were the chances we'd met  _here_ after all this time?”

He gave a short laugh. “Back then I wouldn't've put money on us living this long.”

“Me neither.” Kieran eyed him with a slight smile. “'Specially with you partnered with Vicious. Damn, once I got into the ranks we heard everything about what you two were up to. If I hadn't trained with you son-of-bitches I wouldn't have believed half of it.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Would have traded it for some quiet backwater shit-hole in the long run.”

“Yeah, it was downright dull where I was, but my head officer wasn't a go-getter like Ironwall. Glad I didn't end up in the heavy guard like you and Vicious did. Hey, Spike, did you … ” Kieran narrowed an eye, “did you really do it?”

Shutting his eyes, Spike hung his head.

“Damn! You really did get him back!” Kieran took a long drag from the cigarette before he looked up at the ceiling. “The moment I heard the rumor that Vicious had pulled some hi-jinks on an armored truck job I knew you weren't going to let him get away with it. He really nailed you? The Van really replaced it?”

Spike locked eyes with him.

He leaned forward and squinted. “Coulda done a better match job. But wow, that kinda hard core tech is pricey. That's a heavy duty synthetic. Knew you made it big time when I heard they paid the bill for that.”

“I didn't get a say in things, being unconscious and all.” Spike heaved a sigh. “Still, I didn't learn the truth for a long time as everyone bought Vicious's version of the tale. Made himself out to be a damn hero. The only witness hadn't seen the act, but he'd seen that my gun hadn't been out, I had a detonator in my hand from the half set C-4. He was afraid to tell me until Vicious went on his blood bender on Titan.”

“Yeah, sounded like something that snake would spout. The first story that went around was that you'd done it yourself trying to shoot the lock and he'd had to drag you out of danger. But I dunno, you knew too much about ricochets to have shot your own eye out. I figured that Vicious's impatient streak had something to do with it.”

“Tck. If I hadn't been trying to heal from the surgery, I might have realized that too. But … well, I didn't remember much through the haze of pain meds. I was just trying not to puke.”

Kieran smirked. “Glad I didn't end up running with Vicious. At least you had the balls to stand up to him.”

“That part took me far too long. I should have plugged his ass back when we were low ranks, saved everyone a lot of trouble. And that whole mess with his bloody coup. It's not like it wasn't obvious he was a power-hungry psychopath as a kid.”

“Why didn't you?”

Spike grunted. “Mao wouldn't let me.”

“You asked him?” Kieran held his breath.

“Repeatedly. Sad to say if he'd let me, Mao might still be alive today. Course once Vicious took him out there wasn't a damn thing standing in my way.”

Kieran's fist tightened. “When he was murdered it was a whole shit storm. You weren't there to see it, I mean since everyone thought you were dead.”

Spike laughed. “Everyone … except Vicious. He knew that would draw me out of hiding. And it worked.”

“Nothing settled after that. The syndicate was a damned mess from that point onward right up until … ”

“Bang.” Spike leaned his head back and watched the smoke twist from his cigarette.

“Damn, that really was your work?”

“What can I say? Vicious got on my last nerve.”

Kieran closed his eyes. “To have a been a fly on the wall … ”

“Not a good idea, I didn't exactly leave those behind when I went off on him.”

“Suppose not. I never made it back to the tower. Went into hiding after that with some of those left behind. Without the central power, things just … limped off. You could say the Red Dragon bled to death. Anyone with enough nerve to try and start it up again ended up killing each other off. I abandoned that bullshit and got pretty good staying out of the way.” His head hung. “But it's hard not to turn back to old habits. Life on the right side of the tracks … it … ”

“ … chafed.” Spike patted him on the shoulder. “I know the feeling.”

Kieran flashed a sad smile. “You haven't lost any skill over the years. I mean, damn from the first round I knew it was you. Same ol' cocksure Spike. Machete never stood a chance.” He flicked a glance to the cage. “You know we're gonna die in here, right?”

“Certainly trying to kill me.” Spike put his hands in his pockets. “But no one's succeeded yet.”

“Now that he knows what you can do, Warden Callus is gonna fight you in that ring until you're a bloody pulp.”

“I got that picture. But I'm not sure he knows how much our sensei already gave that one a try.” 

“Oh fuck … the trial in the dojo between you and Vicious. Neither one of you walked away from that. I remember the shock when Sensei and Mao carried both of you into the dorm. Shit, Vicious was hardly breathing. And your hand looked like hell.”

“That's cause Vicious tried to make a whip out of my shirt after he pulled it off. I stole the end of it and tried to choke him to death, his throat was swelling. His only option was take his end and twist it til the pressure dislocated my wrist so I had to let go.”

“How may ribs did you break in that fight?”

“Four each. Those weren't the only bones we broke. I shattered his clavicle and he snapped my shin bone. That's why neither of us were able to get out of bed once the swelling set in.”

“About the only time I remember Sensei tending wounds. You two were completely trashed.”

“Heh, just cause we were bed-ridden didn't stop the fighting. You should have heard us while the rest of you were in the dojo. But, that's what happens when you order two hotheaded boys to fight til one surrenders. Did they really think the outcome was going to be any different?”

“Shit, it's what made you two so damn feared. Broken bones didn't stop either of you.”

“Never has, never will—despite common sense.” Spike flexed his left hand. 

Glancing up at the third story platform, Kieran shook his head. “However, steel bars are something different.”

“For now.” Spike nodded and huffed a breath. “But, I got no respect for an asshole who hides behind barriers.”

Kieran lifted a scarred eyebrow. “I know that look. You're gonna make him pay, aren't you?”

“Pricks like him always fuck up eventually. It's in their nature. Vicious illustrated that lesson.”

From the other side of the bars, Faye shivered. The candid delivery of their words, so hollow, emotionless. They had been boys together, raised to slaughter for the Red Dragons. She shifted her gaze to Jet still sulking a ways off. She doubted he'd heard anything. But now … she wondered if they could ever be partners again. 


	15. Session 15

_ **Session 15** _

“I could really use a hot bath about now.” Faye rested her arms on the cross bar in the commons. Her dry skin flaked and pealed from the prison's water. By now her attire remained wrinkled and had certainly acquired a few stains.

Leaning against the bars, Spike gripped a strip of the canvas cloth scavenged from the torn off sleeve of his jumpsuit. Over the past days he had lost one sleeve, then the other, as well as a few other tears. The dark blue color now had a rather tinged appearance. He wrapped the strip of cloth around the knuckles of his right hand, weaving it between the fingers and partially over the palm. It matched his other one, covering the cracked flesh. He laid his head back and muttered, “I really miss aspirin. That and whiskey. A bottle of that would do me wonders.”

Faye glanced at him. “How are your hands?”

“Really regretting not using palm strikes yesterday. That did not go as I had planned. Shit that guy had a hard head.” Tying it off, he flexed his fingers. “Well, that should do the trick for now.” Beneath his jumpsuit the t-shirt was no longer anything close to white, a mottled tinge grayed by sweat and dried blood. Several more days had passed, now there were eight marks on his wall.

Through it all, Spike was holding up rather well. Mostly bruises and minor cuts were left as evidence of his matches. By now the cauterizing burn had pealed, leaving behind bright pink flesh. The knuckles had been something he'd anticipated becoming a problem. If he'd used his head he would have wrapped them before this happened. But hindsight … eh. If he was careful the main damage would clear up in a few days beneath the tough canvas.

That said nothing for another gaping wound. He glanced at the figure leaning against the bars several feet away.

Faye followed the gaze to the sulking Jet. “He's still not talking to you?”

Spike shook his head. “Barely a few words.”

“At least our cage fights have been easy ones.” She gripped his shoulder. “Thank you.”

He turned toward Faye and touched her hand, the canvas wrappings rough against her skin. “I figured it was the least I could do to try and make it up to him. Put on a good show so Callus takes it easier on you two. So far, he's been good on his promise. But Jet … he's still … ”

“Why don't you just tell him what happened?”

Spike lowered his eyes, a shudder rippled through him as he replied through clenched teeth, “I can't. I don't even want to think about it.”

“Is it worth him hating you?”

“Faye, it's the past. What good does it do to have a confirmation on this side of the bars?”

She nodded slowly.

Spike ran a hand through his messy hair, worse than usual. But Faye had to admit that it seemed the guys were allowed to shave on shower days, probably under supervision with some form of electric razor rather than a straight blade. At least Spike hadn't regrown that Godawful beard he had before. He snuck a glance Jet's way. “Has he spoken to you at all?”

“A bit. But not much. He avoids talking about you entirely. Like you ceased to exist.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Figures. Well, he might get his wish if one of these fights doesn't go my way.”

“Don't talk like that.”

“It's just a matter of time. I'm not a kid anymore, I can't keep this up forever.”

Faye narrowed her eyes at Jet. “We have to get him talking again. We need a plan to get out of here and that's gonna take all of us. Have you come up with anything?”

He held up the cuffs and lowered his voice. “Get these damn things off. But they're constructed well. I can't find where they latch. I'll be honest, being in the cage with these on makes me nervous. All it would take is one tetchy guard hitting the button and I'd be laid out.”

That would have been unbelievable, except Faye saw it happen to Ripper mid-fight … well, her last fight. Apparently a vindictive guard had lost money on her in Faye's debut match with her. “Wouldn't Callus be mad about that though?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Depends on if he sanctioned it.”

Faye inhaled sharply. “Do you think that's what happened to Ripper?”

“Wouldn't surprise me. The guy is nothing more than a child with an army of plastic soldiers, a magnifying glass, and a God complex.” He slouched against the bars, lighting a cigarette, at least one of his vices had been met. Without the alcohol, it was a bit harder to grapple with the memories. All he could do was use those as an edge to hone his temper against. “Unfortunately, our lives are at his whim.”

When Spike looked up he spied Kieran heading toward him, a group of others in tow. At least five others, it seemed a few less confident souls lingered at the back, curious at the very least. Kieran spared a cursory glance to be certain that the guards were out of earshot before he closed the distance, turning to lean his shoulder against the bars and look casual. “Spike, we're not alone in here.”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “I never would have guessed that. I mean, the hundreds of others shambling around here in numbered suits and metal cuffs really weren't a dead giveaway.”  
  


A shabby one-eyed fellow glanced at Kieran. “You really did know the Hellhound?”

Spike scowled at the name, but Kieran nodded. “I told you, Spike and I trained together. Those stories you've all heard? They aren't just rumors. That shit is real.”

“Hold up,” shabby stared at Spike, “You really took out the Red Dragon's?”

“You could say I cut the head off a shit-coup snake, yeah. Took blowing up half the tower to get to my ex-partner. What's it matter?”

“Damn. I did hear about that.” Several eyes widened.

Kieran gestured to the men. “All of them, syndicate men. Fighters trained to the field.”

Spike half-hooded his eyes. “Don't see any fields here.”

“I do.” He pointed up at the third story platform where Callus tended to stand. “There's a hit if I ever saw one.”

Shifting the cigarette, Spike stared up through his hair. “Suicide.”

“No. It's our chance at getting out of here.” Kieran's voice gained pitch with his excitement. “With enough of us they won't stand a chance. The guards are just wimps. You've decked enough of them to prove that. All we need is the right tactics and we could take this place.”

“You forget these.” Spike touched one of Kieran's cuffs.

He scoffed. “These are nothing to a fighter of your caliber! Spike, we all know the truth. You were one of syndicate's most ruthless enforcers. Men fought for the chance to run under your command. You've fought through gunshots and broken bones. You've beaten the odds.”

Jet turned a half-hidden glance their way, a baleful expression on his face. Faye watched hoping something would break the silence between him and Spike. But it looked like Jet was entrenched.

“Bullets and broken bones are one thing.” Spike crossed his arms. “Electrical shocks that disrupt nerve pulses is another. That's not something you can fight through.”

Kieran pressed his shoulder. “ _You_ can.”

“I didn't.” Spike stared him in the eyes.

Stepping back, Kieran blinked. “Are you … you … afraid?”

Spike shut his eyes, his head bowing a bit. “I already know what this shit can do. Out in Quidlivun Cavus I had quite the experience with it.”

Several of the men gasped. “Pluto?”

“Trust me, Kieran. This is not a current any of us can fight through.”

His fist pumped. “Then you won't take a stand?”

“Not when the odds are so abysmal.”

“That was always you. The damn odds!” Kieran flung a hand in the air. “What's the matter? Do you need to flip a poker chip to make a choice?”

Spike rolled his eyes.

“You don't get it … how many would have killed to be you, or at least stand beside you. You have the chance to inspire, to lead again.”

“No, Kieran, you don't get it. I've been through this before. I didn't exactly walk out of it. If you want the details, ask him.” He pointed over at Jet. “You are overlooking something. While I was a risk-taker, I wasn't stupid enough to commit to a pointless plan. You're talking about starting a riot. What do you think Callus's response to that will be when we fail to break through the door locks holding us captive?”

His jaw loosened.

“Probably a battle royale. Not something I want to trigger at the moment. I mean to walk out of this place.” Spike flicked a glance toward Jet and Faye. “I get that you think of me as that reckless enforcer I used to be. But that's not who I am anymore. Not since I left the syndicate.”

“But all the crazy plans … the shit you and Vicious pulled on the spur of the moment under Ironwall … Jovi and Kip … ”

Spike buried his face in a palm.” … were not the most observant enforcers. What looked like a spur of the moment non-plan was actually something Vicious and I had whispered back and forth while no one was paying any attention to us. We were notorious plotters. Downright competitive over it. The poker chip? Surprised you forgot why I did that. It was a bloody truce. I brought that out whenever we both had a plan to settle who got the final say. It was a miracle I got Vicious to agree to that. Out there on the fringes you clearly didn't get the whole story.”

Kieran looked over his shoulder at the cage. “None of us want to go in there anymore. We have to get out of here.”

“Then don't blow it on a long shot. We get caught, there is no second chance. Callus is not getting away with this. We just have to wait for the perfect opening.”

“Promise?” Holding out a hand, Kieran narrowed his eyes.

“Hell yeah, I promise. I'm not leaving this joint without bashing the pulse from him.” Spike slapped his palm and they shook on it.

* * *

Spike finished carving the ninth groove in the wall. Nine victims of Callus's blood sport. Nine earned shots on that sorry ass once Spike got his chance. He sighed wishing he could just make it happen, the hope in Kieran's eyes would have been easy to fall for in his youth. But he knew better now. Lay in wait for your enemy to get careless. Callus would provide the opportunity.

At least Kieran was holding his own in the cage. His match today had been before Spike's and he'd claimed victory easy enough, dropping his opponent by snapping his neck.

Dropping down from his bunk Spike glanced at Jet. The old guy lay on his bunk, his eyes snapped closed in the mockery of sleep the moment Spike cleared the top. Yeah, he was still clamped shut. Not even trying a lame joke, after all nothing had worked before, Spike washed the concrete from the wall off his fingers before wandering over to lean his elbows on the crossbars. His still wrapped hands resting limply outside of the cell. At least that had worked to cushion the blows today.

A harmonica started up. The low mournful blues echoing as the lights shut out for the night. Someone must have asked for the instrument as their reward. And damn they'd earned it. Spike recognized the melody. Not from any music hall. This song wasn't for those who were free. It was for the captive souls. The music of those who knew what it was to be caged. And the words said it all.

Before he knew it, he sunk down the bars and drew a knee up, resting his wrist on it. He snapped his fingers in time. Others tapped the bars of their cells. Spike leaned his head back, the lyrics too strong of a pull to resist … nor was his voice alone.

“Oh I was slicker then ice on Callisto

When I ruled every game there was

I called the shots with the big dogs

Thought ain't nobody ever touched me.

But nothing lasts forever

And the coin she falls her way

The night my luck betrayed me

Fate bitch-slapped me and made her whore.

Now my whole world is a barred cage

With only one sure guarantee

Their ain't no bright horizons

Only stark monotony.

When I tell yah boy it's true enough

The coin she falls her way

That night my luck betrayed me

Fate bitch-slapped me and made me her whore.

Wish I'd stayed the straight and narrow

Though that path was never known

I had to be a stubborn asshole

And strike out on my own.

When I tell yah boy it's true enough

The coin she falls her way

That night my luck betrayed me

Fate bitch-slapped me and made me her whore.”

Spike opened his eyes and found Jet sitting up in the darkness. Leaning his elbows on his knees his eyes fixed on the now silent Spike. “Damn kid. If that wasn't from the bottom of the soul.”

Peering through his hair, Spike offered a flicker of a smile. “Maybe cause it rings rather true.”

“Where'd you learn it?”

Rising to his feet, Spike wandered across the room and leaned against the bunk lighting a cigarette. “I'll give you one guess.”

“Another gift courtesy of Pluto.”

He nodded. “Yup. Guys used to sing to pass the rare times we were in our cells. Some really meant it.”

“Did you?”

Spike sighed.

Jet stared up at him. “I heard you talk that kid out of his foolish plan.”

“Yeah, well, Kieran was usually a follower. I think you can see the reason why.”

“You could have gone for it.”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “What would the point have been?”

“I saw the way they idolized you.”

“Heh, and if I had gone through with it I'd've become a martyr. Seriously not my style.”

Jet rubbed the back of his neck. “I suppose not.”

“Martyrs don't get payback. And there is no way I'm winking out of existence without ending Callus's reign.” Spike pounded his fist into a palm, and winced having forgotten about the reason for the canvas wrappings. “Erf!”

“Better take more care.” Jet pointed. “We'll need enough of you left to take him on.”

Cracking a faint grin, Spike flexed his hands. “Somehow I doubt he'll be much of a challenge once we reach his sheltered ass. And did I hear a 'we' in there?”

Lying back down, Jet cradled his head. He just smiled softly.

Climbing back into his bunk, Spike rolled onto his side and yawned.

“Spike-o?”

“Yeah?”

“You can come back on the ship again.”

Spike laughed. “News for ya, pard. I never actually left.”

* * *

Callus reclined at his desk, wreathed in the smoke of his Io cigar before retiring to his on-site apartment. One could live farther from work, but this meant he was ready at a moment's notice for any developments. Besides, he was a man of simple means, at least in his mind.

The phone rang.

He glanced at it, Peterson, the senior guard appeared on the screen with the guard barracks in the background. “Sir, I'm sorry to disrupt your evening. But there's been a development. Earlier today, actually. The guard who ran across it didn't even realize what his mic picked up. He failed to bring it to my attention until a few moments ago.”

“And? Is there a recording?”

Peterson shifted the screen and a rather pummeled guard lay unconscious at his side. He retrieved the file from his unit. It was faint, but clear enough that Callus picked out the inmates IDs even before any names were mentioned. The moment the recording stopped he rubbed his chin. “Interesting.”

“What do you want me to do about it, sir?”

“Leave the first one. I need to think about him, and I don't want to spook him.”

“The other?”

“Well, we can't let this gain any traction. Separate him from the ranks.”

“I'll need a reason.”

“I'm sure you and the boys can create one. But I want it done early tomorrow.”

“That does mean canceling a fight, sir.”

Callus shrugged. “Oh, don't worry. I think I know how we'll make that inconvenience up.”


	16. Session 16

_ **Session 16** _

As he'd done most mornings, Spike strode along from their cell with his hands in his pockets. Just ahead of him Jet walked while humming an idle tune, slightly off key. Something Spike would not deign to mention now that they were speaking again. Not every cell got their own guard escort pressing them along, but given Spike's treatment from the moment they'd been through in-take not much surprised him anymore.

For the moment the best strategy seemed to be go with the flow, within reason. Entering the commons things were already the usual bustling state with a good portion of the population. After all, the cells released from the bottom up. Spike and Jet meandered on their normal track toward where Faye met them every day. Sure enough she lingered there, chatting with Violet and a couple others.

Halfway across the commons neither Spike nor Jet glimpsed the senior guard's nod toward a nervous subordinate. The response to the signal was a nervous head shake. The senior guard cracked a knuckle. That was the last of it. The short-strawed guard swallowed and walked into Spike and Jet's path addressing another guard. “You seen the match-ups today? What kinda shit is this? It's like the warden wanted to go for a bit of cat fighting today.”

“What you talking about?”

Spike raised an eyebrow. Having a heads up as to who his opponent was could be helpful, if he'd seen them fight. He slowed, curious.

“Seriously this isn't going to be exciting at all. I mean look at the inmate numbers, we got Shaft up against Jacker, two newbies to the cage. And who puts Trigger against a loser like Black Dog?”

Jet came up short. “Eh? Excuse me? Loser? Spike have I lost a match?”

Keeping his hands in his pocket Spike shook his head. “Not that I know of. Unless there's another Black Dog in here.”

“Nope.” The guard thrust a thumb at Jet. “I mean him. Those fights are painful to watch. And I don't mean the hits. It's just there's no style.”

“Heh.” Jet huffed a breath and crossed his arms. “Wouldn't know style if it socked him in the face and gave him a concussion. Come on Spike.”

“And would you look at this? They got that genius the Surgeon matched up with that lackluster bruiser Hellhound.”

Spike paused in mid step and turned back to the guard. “Surgeon? A genius? Are you kidding me? That whack-job was one of my bounties. A friggin' small fry at that. The guy tried to throw a punch and hit himself!”

“Yeah yeah.” The guard waved him off. “Like I'd believe the word of a convict.”

“Uh, the guy broke his own nose. Didn't even heal straight.”

“Even if that is true, he's still in a whole nother league.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Yeah right, the pee-wee league. Go ahead and bet on that amateur then. It's your woolongs, pal.”

As Spike went to move past him, the guard did a quick double-take. “Well, I mean anyone who was brought in by that bounty hunter Andy how bad-ass can he—”

Only by throwing his weight backward and falling to the ground did the guard escape Spike's flying fist as he shouted. “What?”

Jet ground his teeth as the beans were spilled. After all, he was hoping that Spike would never find out … this was precisely why.

With a snap of the senior guard's fingers several guards rushed from nearby and grabbed Spike's arms, he still tried to lob a few kicks at the hapless guard who was now crawling away, fear in his eyes. Jet pressed forward, trying to intervene. Why? He didn't know, other than he could hardly blame Spike for blowing a gasket about Andy having gotten the drop on them.

In a flash, Jet found himself grabbed and hauled back as the senior guard pressed his fingers to the ear com. “Yes sir, that's what I saw too … Most certainly … Both? Are you sure? … ok.”

Even as Spike regained a bit of his composure, the senior guard pointed. “Looks like we got reservations for two in solitary.”

From the divider, Faye spied the guys getting hauled off.

One of the guard's in her earshot snickered and glanced at his device. “Heh, that explains why Hellhound wasn't listed today on the fight roster.”

* * *

Solitary. Not precisely a lot of fun for either of them. Spike and Jet each found themselves confined in the pitch black of their own little cube. Not that they could measure anything after they were crammed into the pits below the black out doors, but would the actual dimension bring any comfort? Four feet wide, four feet deep, four feet tall. Not much room for two rather large guys. No matter what they did they couldn't stand up or lay fully down.

What they could do was hear one another.

Jet's muffled voice reached Spike through the concrete wall. “Hey, pard, can that eye of yours see anything?”

Spike felt around the edges, pressing against the door hoping the latch was faulty. No dice. The seal was tight. Not air tight, he hoped. “Not a damn thing. Need at least low light, not no light.”

“Dang was hoping you could see a way out.”

“Ehh, nope. Just a whole lot of nothing. Oww. Ok, there's the slide hatch and … it's pretty tight.” His own voice echoing off the small chamber intrigued him. Spike gave a crooked grin. There was nothing else to do with their time in the hole. “Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall … ”

Jet groaned as several verses continued.

Once Spike reached nintey-two he paused and after a short silence, grumbled, “Shouldn't've done that. Now I really want a beer.”

“Way to go, lunkhead!” Jet's gravelly voice echoed in his own private pit. “Care to make this any worse?” Time passed without a reply. “Spike?”

“I'm thinking about the possibilities.”

“Argh! Seriously, I will no longer complain about the bunk. How long are we gonna be in these things?”

“Depends on how pissed off the guards are.” Spike rapped his knuckles on the metal overhead door. “Could be a few hours, could be days.”

“I hate to ask this … and I doubt I want to know the answer, but do they let us out for anything … like, I gotta leak.”

Spike crossed his arms. “You got a cold or something? Can't you smell the open trench running through the floor?”

“Uggggh! So that's what that is.”

“Don't tell me you reached down.”

Silence stretched on for sometime as the inability to stretch out wore on them and the heat rose. The solitary pits were not air tight, but they also didn't allow good air exchange.

At length Jet called out. “Yo, I just thought about it,” he chuckled, “your box has a _spiked_ floor.”

Spike grumbled, “Funny.” After a long moment he snickered,“Oh yeah? Well that makes yours a _black_ box.”

They burst into laughter until the passing guard clanged on the doors. “Shut up! Both of you!”

The steps wandered away. In the silence Jet wiped his brow. “Phew! It's getting stuffy in here.”

Spike shrugged. “Kinda part of it all. Not exactly meant to be a vacation, pard. Settle in and hope it's just an over nighter.”

Time in the endless black has no meaning. Spike could not be certain if the stars blinking into existence were from the conditions of the hotbox in some form of hallucination due to the thick air or perhaps it was a dream …

The stars organized themselves into patterns of light, fixed points in the heavens. Two moons showed their faces in the darkness. A hand appeared beside him pointing upward into the heavens, a watch on the wrist. A voice in his ear, the chest that he was leaning against rumbled. “Look through the eyepiece, son. You see this one is the moon Phobos and just over there you can see the other one Deimos.”

“Phobos and Deimos?” Spike's voice sounded funny, once more far too high pitched. His minuscule hand reached for the telescope as he pressed his eye against it. This was the rooftop … the same one he'd jumped off of. “Daddy, those names are so weird.”

He chuckled. Once more when Spike looked over his shoulder his father's face was obscured. “Well, they came from a time when we were on Earth.”

“Earth?”

“Mmm hmm. Here, let me see if I can find it ...” After a few moments he gestured for Spike to look, a distant planet surrounded by debris filled the scope. “That planet is where all humans came from.”

“Even me?”

“Nope, kiddo.” He ruffled Spike's hair. “You were born on Mars, same as your mom and me. Some time ago Earth became a risky place to live. There was a lot of unhappy people, there were wars that made it a desolate place to live even before the first moon's gate exploded. People had already migrated to Mars and there was a bitter argument concerning more immigrants coming here. Earth wanted to be in charge taking resources grown here, which didn't settle well with those who settle on Mars. Anyway, the names of the planets, moons, and constellations come from Earthling mythology, it's our heritage.”

“How did we get here?”

“We flew.”

“Like the birds?”

Father laughed. “Not quite. In large star ships we flew through the heavens between the planets and moons.”

“Wow!” Spike pressed his eye against the lens again, taking in the star field. “We came from that tiny dot?”

“Hehe, it's actually not that tiny. People used to live on the surface and used the stars to guide them.” Shifting the scope over he pointed it at a constellation. “Ok, see where I am pointing now? That collection of stars?”

“Yeah.”

“That is a constellation called Cygnus the Swan.”

Spike narrowed his eyes. “Wha'? Daddy, those're just dots. That doesn't look like a bird.”

“Well, from Earth it did.” He pulled out an older start chart and showed the angle, tracing his fingers. “See, there's the neck and this here is the wings.”

Staring at the image in the book verses the image in the sky Spike blinked. “It doesn't line up.”

“Perspectives. Things will always look different depending on where you look at something from.”

Stretching out his fingers, Spike covered the bird swimming in the heavens. “Daddy, I'm gonna fly out there and see what it looks like someday.”

“I'm sure you will.”

“Tomorrow.”

Hugging him from behind, his father laughed. “Wait til you're a bit older or your mother will never forgive me. Which reminds me, don't tell Mom I let you up on the roof. This is our little secret, ok?”

“Ok, Daddy.”

* * *

Drenched in sweat, Kieran strained against his cuffs. Not only were they joined together, but they were solidly attached by the electromagnet to a steel table bolted to the floor of a sparse room. He couldn't even slide the cuffs a fraction of an inch. Instead of being confined to his cell at the end of the day, he'd been brought here over an hour ago. Pulling and thrashing against the hold had done him no good at all. His heart beat raced in his chest. This had never happened before. Not in the countless months that he had been in prison.

The door opened and closed.

He whipped his head around to stare at Warden Callus approaching the table, the senior guard remained by the locked door. Coming to the opposite side of the table, Callus sat down in a chair and folded his hands on the table.

Kieran tried to force himself to relax, but the grin on the warden's face was anything but reassuring. His own breathing came in short gasps.

Callus inclined his chin. “You fought well in your cage match today, Kieran.”

At the sound of his name and not his number, Kieran blinked. “I uhh … ” his voice caught in his throat. “Sir, why am I here?”

“Easy. You have nothing to be afraid of. After all, you have been compliant and your performances have been extremely entertaining.” Callus's tone was smooth as silk. “A man can admire such skills.”

Kieran didn't know what to say, something told him to keep his mouth shut. He turned his wrists against the cuffs still hoping for some ability to work his way free. Not to take Callus out, his bravado abandoned him this close to a man who could kill him right here with a simple push of a button.

Leaning back, Callus pulled out an Io cigar and lit it. Savoring several breaths of the sweet smoke before he met Kieran's eyes again. “This close to you I can see the raw power you possess.” He glanced at the senior guard. “You are correct. I think he is well suited for our little deal.”

“Deal?” Kieran cocked his head and glanced between the two of them. “Sir … what are you talking about?”

Callus pulled the cigar from his mouth and stared at it. “There's this wager going on among the guards that there is an unbeatable man in the matches. I am not convinced. It simply requires the right man with the right knowledge, and I am certain that even he could be taken down.”

Not even daring to respond, Kieran kept his wide-eyes locked on Callus. The man smiled broadly.

“You're in here for an extortion ring, am I correct?”

“Sir.” He bowed his head.

“And if you got out, you wouldn't do that again. Right?”

“Of course not. Never go near it again!”

Callus flicked a hand, eyeing his senior guard. “You see? I told you he was a penitent man. And in this case I think we can make an exception.”

“An exception?”

Callus folded his hands and smiled, speaking around the cigar. “Here's the deal. You enter the cage against one opponent. You defeat him. I forgive your sentence and release you from prison. Easy as that.”

Kieran jerked upright. Just one more fight? That was it?

“You can breathe fresh air again. See the sunshine. Eat real food. Doesn't that sound wonderful?”

The tease was more than his mind could even dredge up memories. Kieran had known the moment he'd been picked up that as a prior Red Dragon he wouldn't ever be free again. He dared to crack a smile at the prospect.

Callus plucked the cigar and met the eager eyes, “Kieran, I offer you your freedom if you kill Spike.”

The breath caught in his throat. He choked before he could manage anything resembling a word. By then Callus sat back in his chair smoking like a damn chimney. “But … sir … it's … he's … I can't … ”

“I would think you'd be eager to take on the challenge.” Callus held out a hand. “A chance to overshadow the man who had everything and yet walked away. People hero-worshiped him, yet he was nothing but a man. Sure he had a reputation that gained him women, favors from the capos, resources lower ranks only dreamed of. But you trained with him, knew him when he was nothing but a young hack. He's not half as special as he's made out to be. Everyone knows legends are not a reality.”

He shook his head. Sweating even more profusely. “Don't underestimate him.”

“Kieran.” Leaning across the table, he spread his hands. “You've never had the benefit of a reputation. Always on the lower rung of the ladder. So underappreciated. If only someone had given you a chance. You could have been the center of attention just like him. The accolades, the perks that went with it … all of it passed you by as you dwelt in mediocrity. Imagine the rest of your life, out there, free again, as the man who took down the Hellhound.”

Staring at his hands, Kieran watched his fingers tremble as he clenched and unclenched his fists. One fight. One more bloody fight and these damn cuffs … gone.

Callus continued, “So many claim he is perfect. But you and I, we know that's not true. You know his training. His moves. His secrets. I can hear the victory cheers already.”

The sessions replayed themselves in his mind. It was true. Kieran had watched and even sparred with Spike when they were teenagers. He'd been tough, and hard to beat. But that didn't mean he couldn't be defeated. Someone had managed to bring him in, after all. Kieran may not have gotten much recognition, but he was no slouch. Hell, he'd been a Red Dragon, just like Spike had. And unlike him, he hadn't become a traitor! He'd stayed loyal to the end, even slightly past it when it looked like there was a chance things would resurrect. That had to be worth something.

Locking eyes with Callus, he cracked a knuckle.

Callus cocked an eyebrow. “Looks like we have ourselves a deal.”


	17. Session 17

_ **Session 17** _

Spike stretched and yawned. The stint in solitary hadn't done him much good. From what he could tell by Faye's lecturing it had been two days of her worrying, so one over-nighter with a release to their cell right before lights out on the second day. At least he'd been able to lay out on his bunk.

“ … I'm serious, guys. We have to discuss tempers.”

Raising an eyebrow, Spike glanced her way. “You still talking?”

She huffed a breath. “Well, while you two were playing hooky they did more rounds on my side.” Faye sported a few new bruises and tears in her jumpsuit. “I didn't appreciate it.”

“Like I have any control over that.”

“You do!”

“Faye, if you believe that bullshit, I got a moon with a pony racing track to sell you.” Spike folded his arms over his chest. “About the only thing I believe from Callus is that no one is leaving this place.”

Jet glanced up at the platform as he rubbed a crick in his neck. “With what I've seen that seems to be true, at least outside of a body bag. I have to wonder if the guards even leave here. Though they seemed to enjoy tormenting us in solitary. And trust me, that was not at all pleasant. Didn't even get to eat until they let us out.”

“Not that the food is all that great to begin with.”

“Uhhhhggg, well, yeah, but still.”

Spike stood up a little straighter, his eyes catching motion their way. “Great. Starting early today.” He flexed his hands, but the guards passed by him and grabbed another prisoner. Given the extra time, Spike unwrapped the canvas on his left hand. It looked better now, the knuckles not as raw. He rewrapped it and checked the right. Similar. After two days of not being in the cage matches he was certain that Callus would pull him in sooner rather than later.

Several matches took place in their usual bloody rotation before the senior guard turned his gaze Spike's way.

Jet patted his shoulder. “You got this, Spike-o. Make it a quick one and come on back out.”

Walking into the silent escort of the guards, he didn't give them any reason to harass him all the way into the open cage door. Passing to the opposite side he tugged on the wrappings just to be sure they were secure. A figure entered the cage. The door closed and latched with a clang. Spike glanced up and his blood ran cold.

“Ki—Kieran!” He ran a hand through his hair not even believing the sight.

No fear dwelt in Kieran's eyes. Only dogged determination as he struck a relaxed pose, cracking his knuckles. “Spike.”

“You—you shouldn't be in here!”

He lowered his hands and flexed them. “I volunteered.”

The door had shut. The latch closed. There would be no chance to rescind. “Don't you know? All my matches are—”

“Death matches.” His voice was calm, almost cold. A slight twitch in the corner of his mouth.

Spike held out his hands, glancing toward Callus. He couldn't see the man, but he knew he'd be up there. Knew he was behind this. “What do you think you can gain by volunteering for this?”

Kieran raised his hands into a fighting stance. “Release from prison.” The bell rung.

_Oh shit!_ Spike stiffened, something that wasn't good when he needed to remain loose. 

But Kieran didn't rush in. He remained still, eyes locked in a hard stare. “I know you. Trained with you. Saw how you and Sensei came up with your technique. I know how you like to stand in wait, draw your victim to you. Hell, even Vicious fell for that.”

“You shouldn't have done this.” Spike narrowed his eyes. They would have been betting on this rattling his nerve. And the truth was, they were right. The last thing Spike wanted to do was hurt Kieran. They'd been reckless teenagers together, living in the same dorm. Back in those days Spike had always held back when facing Kieran for many reasons, the greatest of which was the boy had been crippled by self esteem issues. He would beat him, but kept the margin narrower by controlling the fight. After all these years, what would he have picked up in the field?

Kieran ground the ball of his foot into the mat. “Why not? You would have done the same. I know your secrets.”

As Spike was about to reply Kieran darted across the cage and delivered a series of blows, alternating targeting high, low, cross. But Spike met and deflected each one following the final deflection with a kick to Kieran's left hip sending him staggering backward, off balance. “And you forget, I know how  _you_ were trained. You have no advantage here.”

Wincing only slightly, Kieran recovered himself and forced the smile. “Oh, but I do. I know the real you. Not the facade you play to the world, but the real man behind those steely eyes.” He didn't wait for that to sink in before darting forward kicking with his right foot. The moment Spike edged backward out of the way he struck with his left hand catching Spike's fist. It earned him a pained yelp and a wince. Adrenaline hadn't caught Spike yet. An advantage, and Spike knew that he would notice that. That lesson had been hammered into the boys well enough.

Withdrawing a bit more, Spike glared at him. “You know it's really sad, Kieran, after all this time I would have thought you'd learn to think for yourself. Instead you're just as gullible as ever.”

Moving in for another assault, Kieran laughed as he feinted punches and kicks. “Look at you, giving ground!”

Spike wasn't smiling. Not a damn thing about this felt right. In an opening, he surged forward and grabbed Kieran's wrist, pulling his gut sharply into a raised knee and dumping him on his hip. Spike spun and returned to a guarded stance. “Which is one of my techniques, you fool.”

Grasping his stomach, Kieran staggered to his feet. “Huh. Lucky shot.”

“Bullshit. You've let yourself get lured into a death trap. The only way you're leaving here is through death.”

His eyes darkened. “Too bad nobody told Kade that.”

At the name, Spike took a step backward. Kieran took full advantage of the shock and rushed him, pummeling him in a rain of blows he struggled to deflect. More than one got through, nailing Spike in the shoulder and hip before he managed to twist out of the way. Kieran's last strike hit the bars. He growled in frustration, sweat dripping down his face. Spike gasped a few breaths, backing up in a hunched over guard to give a bit more space. “Oh no, you don't get to bring **that** up.”

“Why? Someone should. It was all your damn fault.” Kieran drove forward, lashing out in a tight attack pattern, too bad for him he failed to deviate from the old drill.

Spike dodged around the series of memorized strikes as he shuffled back. Breaking the counter, he caught him with a hard punch to the jaw. The force spouted blood from Kieran's nose. “Screw you and your attempted guilt trip! It was an accident. I paid the price for my fuck-up.”

“The hell you did.” Kieran wiped the blood on the back of his hand. “I was there.”

“You didn't have to follow us!” Spike snarled knowing full well he was losing his cool. Kieran's tactic was working. He tried to force his breathing to calm as they stalked each other across the cage. Two savage beasts prowling and waiting for the other to make a fatal mistake. The worst of it was Spike's resistance to nail Kieran. “No one even asked you to come.”

“Kade was so excited. Just days from entering the ranks and then you decided to be a dumb shit! We were all punished. Vicious and I for not stopping you. And Kade … well Kade paid the ultimate price. He lost everything because you had to be a showoff!”

Spike closed his eyes for a moment trying to banish the memories through that drunken haze before shock had led to absolute clarity of what he had done. But that move was a mistake.

A mistake Kieran was waiting for. He vaulted up, coming down and grabbing onto Spike's wrist trying to use his own momentum to wrench him over in a move stolen straight out of Spike's repertoire. The move halfway worked, wrenching Spike at an awkward angle and nearly laying him out on the mat. The end result left Kieran rolling up against the bars. He pulled himself upright.

Panting, Spike spat out blood from a bite of his tongue. “Did you forget what Mao and Sensei did to me after that little joyride? You participated in the days of my punishment! It was over a week before I healed enough to rejoin the class!”

“Hell with that, Kade never would have healed. He'd been thrown out before he even became a Dragon. But it should have been you, you traitor! You should have been kicked out. But Mao couldn't do what was right because he needed fresh meat for the ranks, and you and Vicious were the closest ones ready after Kade. You asshole, no one ever found out what happened to him! You took his spot!” Kieran scrambled forward a victim of his own rage, clawing and alternating palm strikes.

Spike concentrated hard on reading his motions. Fast and driven by emotion they were hard to predict meaning more than one landed hard enough to leave a mark. Under the unbroken assault, Spike dreaded the escalation. His stomach turned at the aspect of critically wounding Kieran, the once timid boy who used to follow him around like an obedient dog. But it could not be helped. Spike's back brushed the bars. He deflected a blow with a hard wrenching of the arm and took control of the fight back, delivering a savage kick to Kieran's shin.

He howled and staggered back. When Kieran regained his breath he glared hard at Spike. “They all talked in the dorm about how tough you were. But if they'd been there that night. If they'd seen you on your knees crying your eyes out, begging Mao not to throw you out, that you didn't know how to survive on the streets of Tharsis. God, I was so naive for not telling them! I can't believe Vicious never did. You were such a coward!”

Spike flinched at the reminder. The memory of those hot tears welling from both his eyes, soaking his hands against the floor as he'd groveled for his future flooded back. As did the days that followed, tending to Kade's wounds as he'd sobbed in agony, how Sensei had made him the dojo's whipping boy until he was so broken physically he couldn't get out of bed. “I repeat Kieran, I paid for that mistake. Mao made certain I never forgot the price of influence. I don't need a spineless coward trying to use that as a barb.”

“You didn't deserve the reputation they gave you!” Kieran rushed, darting off to the side and coming at Spike with a grapple. Spike only just managed to get his hand between his neck and Kieran's arm, stopping him from all out strangling him. But he still had a man-sized tick hanging off his back.

Kieran wanted him to go backward? Fine! Spike went with the flow. In a sudden shift, he dropped his weight backward slamming Kieran against the mat and bringing his elbow into the gut. Kieran exhaled in a rush of air as Spike rolled off of him and backed into a guarded posture. Even with all the goading, he didn't want to do any of this, but there wasn't a choice. Only one of them would leave this with a pulse.

Shakily, Kieran staggered to his feet remaining hunched over, one arm across his belly. “You were a traitor.”

“I was betrayed.” Spike made a fist. “There's a reason I took Vicious out.”

“Yeah, you couldn't stand being in his shadow.”

His eyebrow twitched. “Not even close. Why would I have left the Red Dragons if that were the case? Kieran, think about it.”

“None of it matters.” Kieran slashed the air. “All I have to do is kill you and my troubles are over.”

“Sorry.” Spike swallowed, bracing himself as Kieran's resolve hardened in his eyes. The fire dwelling their promised that he would follow through on this bad decision. That he believed he had the skill to carry out this mission. “But Callus isn't going to let you go.”

“Liar! Why don't you just die!” Kieran leaned forward and committed himself. He closed the distance in a rush.

This had gone on too long. With each passage delaying the inevitable it didn't … it wouldn't get any easier. Spike took one long look at the boy he once knew, and shoved the memory down into the abyss. The best he could do was not let him suffer. Leaping up, Spike caught the top of the cage and hung on. He kicked hard and caught Kieran's throat as he attempted to punch Spike like pinata. The kick sent Kieran into a sloppy uncontrolled cartwheel up against the bars.

Spike dropped down and crouched, watching as Kieran breathed through his own blood. He didn't get up. He didn't even move. Slowly, Spike crossed the cage to his side and knelt down, taking his limp hand. “You always believed us. No matter what we said. That day … so long ago … you never should have believed me when I told you I knew what I was doing. You knew what a shameless fibber I could be.”

Placing a hand on Kieran's shoulder, he lowered his head. “Why couldn't you have believed me now?”

In a shuddering breath, Kieran's body failed him. Battered and broken, lying in a growing pool of his own blood. An incredible waste. Kieran had never been bad, in fact there had been a bit of promise in him. But even with the years of training he didn't seem capable of the hard edge needed to be a proper enforcer. A poor soul who ended up recruited to the ranks out of necessity.

“It should never have ended this way, Kieran.”

The door latch opened. Spike turned his gaze from the fallen once-comrade to the approaching guards and his blood boiled. His hands snatched into fists, his lip lifted.

This shit wasn't over.

And the guard realized it a split second before Spike bull-rushed his back right into the bars, pummeling the shit out of him. Another tried to stop him, fumbling with the remote. Spike kicked it from his hands and followed with another one aimed at his chest, powerful enough it snapped the man's neck from the whiplash. He was dead before he hit the mat.

Another guard backpedaled as Spike tackled him, seizing his head. He didn't get the chance to wrench it, but he did glimpse the other guard pointing the remote. In a split second decision, Spike pressed his cuffs up against the guard's temples, who screamed in a panic, “No! Don't!”

But the other guard, in fear of his life, did.

It was like liquid lightning pouring through Spike's veins. Everything tensed, even his hands gripping the unfortunate guard's hair, which now stood on end. Electricity likes a short path. That happened to be directly through the man's skull. It didn't mean Spike didn't get a nasty dose in the process.

The moment the current stopped, his body went slack, crumpling backward. The lights went out.

The senior guard barreled his way into the cage and threw the button pusher aside. “You moron! Why didn't you wait until he let go?” He gestured to the smoking guard. “You probably killed him.”

“Sir, I uhh, I was just thinking about … ”

“Pulses. Now!”

Edging forward, he pressed a finger to the guard and cringed. Then he moved to Spike and nodded slowly.

“Good. You have no idea how pissed off the warden would have been. Secure him and haul him back to his cell.”

“On my own?”

“Fuck yes!” The senior guard glared at him. “When you come back, you haul these three off to the infirmary, even the dead ones.”

In his ear Callus's voice broke through. _“Not entirely as I planned. Three guards down is bad. But now he's had a taste. He'll be less feisty. I doubt he'll be fit for the cage matches for at least a few days now, that was quite a dose. However, he did bury our ambitious upstart for us in a grand display. We should be grateful. Check on him tomorrow morning and let me know his status.”_

“Yes sir. Should we cancel the rest?”

“ _Are you joking? No. Pull the guards out of the cage until that fool returns and let's get the next match going.”_

“Right away.” The senior guard snapped his fingers and pointed to a few other guards. They snapped to. Business as usual. The fights went on despite the tense atmosphere.


	18. Session 18

_ **Session 18** _

Jet stared through the bars into their cell, it had been a long day after his match waiting for them to escort him back. The match had been against a thug Jet had claimed the bounty on. Surely enough he knocked him out with a solid left. Still, he'd had to wait, his eyes straining for a glimpse six floors up into the dim cells. “Spike.”

On the way up he'd noted the now dried droplets of blood all the way to the cell door. It couldn't open fast enough. The moment the guard released his cuffs he darted forward and knelt on the floor. Spike lay on his side, from the blood droplets he hadn't moved from being dragged here. Both eyes shut loosely, he was fully unconscious. The only motion was his breathing. At least he was alive.

It had been hours!

Touching his shoulder, Jet nudged him, unsure of how far the current had traveled and done any damage. “Open your eyes, partner. Come on. You gotta wake up.”

Nothing, no reaction as he slightly rolled Spike, noting the lines of first degree burns on his forearms.

“Spike, wake up. This is serious. I need you to open your eyes.” He gripped Spike's shoulders lifting him slightly. Spike's head hung back, limp. When his mouth opened the source of the blood became obvious, a bite on his tongue. Things weren't looking good at the moment if he couldn't get Spike to respond. Another scent, other than the tang blood registered. Glancing down he wrinkled his nose. It shouldn't have been a surprise, since he'd been shocked enough to lose consciousness, but Spike had pissed himself. Jet shook his head. Well, that could be cleaned up.

Levering Spike up a bit more, Jet worked his knee behind his back and braced him, leaning Spike's head against his shoulder. “You brash idiot. Why'd you have to do this to yourself? You're scaring me right now. Wake the hell up.”

After a few breaths, Spike's rhythm changed. Shorter, shallow breaths. Muscles tensed. He winced and struggled feebly in Jet's grip. Both of his hands shaking.

Jet leaned over him. “You're alright, Spike.” That wasn't precisely true. He watched Spike's eyes flutter open and closed as he began to hyperventilate, Jet wasn't so sure he actually was ok. “Easy, don't fight. It's just me here. No threats. Take slow breaths.”

Spike panted. The moment he tried to shift his left arm he cried out.

“Don't even try anything for the moment. Just breathe. Slower, steadier.” It seemed to take an eternity before Spike's breathing evened out. Though Jet wanted desperately to check everything at once he had to be patient. “You know, I could lecture you over your stupidity.” Jet met Spike's half open eyes. The pupils pulsed ever so slightly, but at least they were even. He couldn't deny the pain that lingered there. Patting Spike's shoulder he shook his head. “But I don't it's necessary. You're pretty thrashed. Let me see how bad we're talking. Can you see out of both eyes?”

Shakily, Spike nodded.

“Ok. Hearing seems alright too. For the most obvious, can you move your hands?”

Spike winced and gritted his teeth. The fingers of his right hand shifted. The moment his left hand twitched he hissed and cursed, “Damn it!”

“Easy on yourself. You got movement, and you can speak. That's all we need to confirm for the moment.” Jet reached down to the unsnap buttons on the jumpsuit. “I hate to even look, but I know he hit you.” The moment he popped the first couple he groaned. Dark burn patches marred the t-shirt underneath. One was an actual hole. He shook his head and continued until he could slip Spike's arms free from the suit. “Just stay relaxed, let me do this.”

Spike barely resisted. But he certainly tensed with certain motions.

Jet lifted the shirt and beneath he spied several new bruises. A solid connection to Spike's left shoulder. That was fresh. But what he feared most was missing. There were no traces of the burns across Spike's chest. Just the forearms. “Phew. Ok. This could have been much worse. Hold on a moment. We'll get you cleaned up and something to help those burns.” Edging out from beneath him, he laid Spike out on the floor and went for the change of clothing. The other suit wasn't in much better shape really. But at least he had the canvas strips from the torn off sleeves to soak in water and dress the burns. It's been a while. He should have been here right away and dressed them immediately. But that was not something he'd had the power to arrange.

In the end Spike had lucked out, adding a few bone deep bruises. Nothing broken or dislocated. He'd be sore, and his forearms were likely the worst from the electrical spasms. After wrapping the damp strips of canvas around his arms, Jet edged him to his feet. “Let's get you in bed.” After a few steps he looked toward Spike hanging off his shoulder. “Are you walking?”

“No … ” Spike gasped, “ … can't … ” His feet were shifting, but it was like he wasn't strong enough.

“I gotcha, don't worry about it.” Practically carrying him up the ladder, Jet helped Spike fall into his bunk.

Spike flopped onto his side, eyes already closing in sheer exhaustion.

Jet patted his hand. “You just get some sleep. I'll make sure you keep breathing.” Worry lined his face the moment Spike's eyes were shut. This was bad. Very bad. Of course he hadn't expected Spike to simply jump up and be fine after being knocked flat on his ass. That had been quite a jolt, considering it killed the man he'd been holding. Even still he hadn't expected Spike to be this weak from it.

It would be a long intermittent watch.

It had to be the fifth time that Jet had stood up and carried the metal mug of water to Spike. He opened his eyes halfway and took a few gulps at Jet's quiet urging and in no time slipped back to sleep. Jet heaved a sigh wishing like hell that he had some form of equipment to evaluate his partner to truly be certain he was alright.

Just as he was about to lie back down the cell door opened. A guard motioned for him to go against the far wall. He cooperated, not wanting to make things worse. One of the crew in a compromised condition was one too many. The senior guard strode in right up to Spike and grabbed his left wrist.

Spike's eyes opened feebly, he tried to pull back but failed to muster a true coordinated effort.

The senior guard pulled out a small device and touched it to the left cuff. A meter read out, a reddish light flashed. He pressed his ear com, “Callus? … Oh yeah, he's down for the count. … At least another day, maybe more. Parasite capacitor reads twenty-eight percent. You know he won't get up till that's charged. … Leave him? … That's what I thought you'd say.”

The moment it was released Spike's hand went limp, his eyes nearly shut.

The senior guard waved a hand. “It's as predicted. The boys who bet he'd be out of the ring today, win.”

The other guard laughed. “And the ones who bet that no one else survived that shit-show yesterday made out like bandits. You heard, the last guard died overnight from the trauma.”

“I know. We'll have to recruit if this keeps up.”

“You mean if he,” the guard pointed to Spike, “even recovers.”

Jet stiffened.

“Serve him right if he doesn't.” The senior guard smirked. “But even if he does, the warden has a plan for him. He won't be around indefinitely. Alright, let's get his friend down to the commons.”

“Wait.” Jet held up his hands. “Maybe I should stay here today.”

“Heh, nope. You got a match. Get your ass to the door, now!”

With a sigh, Jet moved toward the cell door. “Hang in there, Spike.”

Jet caught the faint glint of the light off his closing eyes. The wheels were already turning by the time he reached the divider where Faye leaned against the bars.

She turned, eyes searching. “Spike?”

Jet held a hand up. “He's ok … -ish.”

“Where is he?”

“Still in bed. He couldn't get up.”

Faye glanced the direction of their cell. “That's not good.”

“No, it isn't. It doesn't seem like you'll see him anytime soon. The burns aren't too bad. He's certainly had worse. And the battering from that guy he knew wasn't anything he can't normally weather.”

Faye's eyebrow twitched. “Soo … why is this different?”

Jet held up a cuff. “I think I'm finally beginning to get how these damn things work. All this time, all the times they engaged the electromagnet and yet, how are they recharging?”

She studied her own cuff and shook her head. “I haven't the faintest.”

“Nor did I, until I heard the senior guard after he held up a meter to Spike's and said something about a parasite capacitor. The charging stage meant Spike was still down for the count.”

“Shit! Don't tell me that ...”

“We're the damn batteries for our own restraints. Now something else makes sense. That day we got roped into the fights? When they cuffed Spike up for most of the day? He noticed he'd been worn out, but thought it was mainly from standing there so long. The draw for the electromagnet was likely the main reason if it was hijacking his nervous system.”

Faye folded her arms. “This is not good at all. So wait, do you think these things will charge up first, stealing energy from us?”

Jet nodded. “From what I could gather. Think about it, if that's the case we're kept weakened until the safety measure kicks back in. And trust me, Spike's out of it. He can barely keep his eyes open.”

“Alright, so here's the million woolong question. How do we get around this?”

Jet glanced at the cage. “Well, sending the signal through someone else like Spike tried will only lessen the punch. It still drained him even if the current missed anything vital.”

Biting her lip for a moment, Faye narrowed her eyes. “All for that damn kid he once knew. I get why he was upset, but did he have to blow a gasket on the guards like that for someone he hadn't seen in ages?” After a long moment she shut her eyes. “Of course … loyalty. Damn you, Spike!”

“What?”

She waved a hand. “Nothing, just some stuff that came up on the cruise ship. I … I realized why he would have done that for Kieran. I got the feeling that he'd looked up to Spike when they were younger.”

“Did you hear them in the fight? What was that about?”

“I have no idea. That was all news to me. You'll have to ask Spike when he's with it enough to talk.”

Jet grumbled, “That'll be a few days by the looks of things.”

* * *

The cell opened and Jet entered, rubbing his knee from the day's rough skirmish. Spike lay in bed, a tray with his meal on the floor where the guard would have shoved it though. Picking it up, Jet noted that a couple packs of cigarettes were there as well. He pocketed one and left the other on the tray as he climbed up the ladder.

“Spike, you up?”

At the sound of his name, he cracked open his eyes.

Jet held up the tray with a rather unappetizing bowl of now room temp noodles in a broth. “Dinner, and it's not bell peppers and beef. Not sure what type of meat they were aiming for today, but they missed the mark anyway.”

Slowly, Spike rolled back on the bunk and maneuvered until he was sitting against the wall. Even in the dim light Jet noted how much paler than normal he was. When Spike tried to grip the spoon, his fingers didn't quite manage it.

Jet caught the spoon before it made too much of a mess. Without a word he did something he'd done countless times before, he fed an out of commission Spike. By the time barely palatable dish was empty Spike's head was already nodding. Jet grabbed his attention. “You feeling any stronger yet?”

Spike shook his head. “I just … just need to lie down.”

As Jet took the tray away he debated telling Spike about their discovery. He should know, after all that's what had him out cold. Not that he could do a damn thing about it. But still. Spike was observant. He might even feel something valuable.

By the time he turned around, Spike's head was back on the pillow, his eyes shut.

“Well, so much for that idea.”


	19. Session 19

_ **Session 19** _

A fly buzzed around the light fixture flickering from above. Ed leaned back on the couch and swayed as she watched it circling and circling. The bottoms of her bare feet pressed together, hands gripping her toes. She smiled at the display overhead entirely ignoring the other juvenile detainees gawking at her and whispering in awe.

“I can't believe she's not sick in bed.”

“I know, I mean I saw her swallow it with my own eyes.”

“She should be dead.”

“But … she looks perfectly normal.” When everyone stared at Riley he added, “Well … at least for her.”

Ed laughed as the fly spiraled down and landed on her toe. “Hello visitor! How's the world outside?” After living on the _Bebop_ for extended periods of time in space being confined here wasn't really that bad. Just boring was all. Nothing fun ever happened. Sure, the others squabbled from time to time. But that was nothing quite like watching Faye and Spike in the middle of a row. Or simply landing on some new colony she'd never been before. Ed liked it on Callisto when she discovered how much fun snow was.

Hrm, maybe she could make some by messing with the freezer. How much fun would it be to make a snow sculpture or even start a snowball fight. She bet that Riley could throw a good wallop and probably make Jessica cry. She cried about everything. Especially that she didn't belong here with the rest of these miscreants.

Miscreants. That was a fun word. Ed'd have to remember that when she reunited with the crew.

Speaking of which … Ed glanced at the clock. 1:09pm. Ahh yes, the next testing phase.

Out of seemingly nowhere the perimeter alarm went off. Jeff, the security guard, dropped the manga he was reading and stared at the screens. “What the heck? There's nothing out there.”

Ed rocked back and forth watching him from the corner of her eyes. For the past few days she'd been randomly messing with portions of the system. One part at a time. The coding was elementary for her. Working in the timed delays so she could observe the reactions was a touch trickier without an actual keyboard. But Ed just took it up as a challenge. So far no one was the wiser. Not the fellow detentionees. Not the security guards. Not the counselors.

“Heh,” Jeff scratched his head. “Maybe it was a rogue cat or something.” He fired through a code, but it took him a few tries until he finally got the alarm shut off.

Ed noted to herself, _three minutes ten seconds._ More data and so far no one suspected it was anything but a rolling glitch.

The fly took off and spiraled up toward the flickering light. Ed's eyes followed the path and she tossed her hands up, “Lift off!”

* * *

“So you can see that's how these things work.”

Up on his bunk, Spike yawned, leaning against the cell wall he fought to keep his eyes cracked open. The last of his cigarette burned down to the stub. He flicked it to the bare floor. “Yeah, well great. But how do we get them off?”

Jet wrinkled his brow.

“Seriously. That's all I care about right now.”

“Well, we know one thing, taking them down to a zero charge doesn't release them.”

Spike cocked an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”

“I'd bet you drained it. I mean twenty-eight percent after that many hours of charging? And look at you … you're still pretty pretty wiped out.”

“Great eyes Captain Obvious. Look if you're gonna keep chattering, let me go back to sleep.” Spike edged himself down.

But Jet climbed up the ladder. “Wait a minute. We might be onto something here.”

Spike groaned when Jet placed a hand on his pillow preventing him from his goal. Pushing back, he leaned against the wall with a dark scowl as Jet climbed up to join him.

“Ok, so we know that we're the power source for these things. They have a limited capacity, but can release that change in one of two known ways. The magnetic lock or to deliver a taser-like shock.”

Spike's head nodded, not in agreement, but because he was falling asleep sitting up.

Jet stared at his own cuffs. “So the question now comes how do they stay attached? Clearly not by some powered component. There must be a latch or some form of access somewhere. Odd, they appear so seamless. Hey, Spike, lemme see yours. Maybe there's a scorch mark or something.”

He reached over and found Spike snoring, his arms folded loosely over his lap. It was still the middle of the night.

“Heh, he's been sleeping all the time. Thought he'd have a bit more by now.” With a sigh, Jet lifted Spike's right wrist and turned the metal object riding there.

Spike cracked open an eye and grumbled. “Would you leave me alone. Seriously, Jet. I'm still fried. I just need to sleep right now.”

“Hold on a second... I just noticed this.” He pointed to the lines of burns on Spike's forearms. “The left is worse than the right.”

“Yeah, what of it?” Spike drew backward, crossing his arms to hide from the prodding. The flesh was still rather tender.

Jet leaned forward. “One must be the source and the other the receiver. You know, like when you hold a rod to a Van Der Graaf generator.” He held up his own left wrist. “Generator.” Then he lifted his right. “Directing rod.”

Covering his yawn with a hand Spike eyed him. “All right Mr. Wizard. Thanks for the science lesson. Now, unless you can unlock them, get off my bunk and go talk to yourself.”

Jet huffed a breath and dropped down the ladder. “If only I could talk this through with Faye. She seemed more interested in this news.”

“I am interested.” Spike murmured, now lying on his side. “But I can hardly concentrate right now. How do you expect me to outwit tech I've never seen before?”

With a sigh, Jet sat down on his own bunk. “Sorry, pard. I just can't sleep right now.”

Spike rolled over. “I wish I could do something _other_ than sleep! Now, shut up!”

* * *

Faye sat on the edge of her bunk, tendrils of smoke twisted up from her cigarette as she pondered their discovery. Her eyes studied the cuffs.

From across the cell, Violet cocked her head. “Ok, seriously, don't even think of messing with those. Isn't it enough that your friend went down? I mean, no one's seen him. He could be dead.”

“Spike's not dead.” Faye met her eyes. “Jet's in the same cell, remember? Said he's flat out on his ass, but he's still alive.”

Violet shook her head. “Well, he's lucky. Most guys who pound on the guards don't get off so simple. Since he lived, bet they'll make an example of him. Let him recover and then drag him up for a display.” She shuddered. “That's what they do to inmates who cause trouble.”

“Has anyone ever cracked these things open?”

Violet's eyes widened. “No. Some have tried. But I guess there's some kind of thing built in. I've heard stories of inmates who nearly succeeded. Then their cellmate watched as the dang thing went crazy on them. Guess they ended up smoking, and I don't mean no cigarettes. They got these things figured out so they don't release. Not by us, anyway.”

Faye scratched her head. “But they have to go on and off somehow.”

“Sure. When mine went on it was behind my back. Never saw what they did. And as for them coming off? Heh, never seen that happen. I mean, I suppose someone could cut their own hand off.”

Grimacing Faye grabbed her own wrist. “I don't think Spike would be real enthusiastic about that move.” Drifting toward the bars she rested her wrists on the crossbars and took a long drag off the cigarette. “Damn, they really have us in a vice here.”

Violet drew her knees to her chest. “At least all three of you can fight.”

“Have you been in the cage yet?”

She shook her head.

Faye huffed a breath and flexed bruised knuckles. “You're lucky.”


	20. Session 20

_ **Session 20** _

“Be honest with me, Spike, who was this guy Kieran?”

It had been a long day. And a strange one at that. For the first time since entering this prison no one had been released from their cells to the commons. The guards had barely passed through. And odder still, from their angle up on the sixth floor Spike and Jet watched the cage disassembled and removed with a good amount of haste. Something was up.

Well, someone else was too. Spike had regained a fair amount of his stamina. He'd just finished adding the cross hatch over the collective marks. This tenth one was for Kieran. His finger traced it before he took out a cigarette and lit it. “It's kinda complicated. I mean, I didn't exactly know him for very long. What was it … like four years? Something like that.”

Jet stood below looking up, deliberately leaving a bit of distance as Spike's voice faded off. This wasn't exhaustion, it was a clear effort to recall. But after hearing Spike muttering names for the last nights Jet had to know what the significance was.

Spike rubbed his forehead. “He certainly wasn't the strongest of us.”

“Back in training, for the Red Dragons, right? In Mao's dojo?”

“Yeah. The first time I met Kieran I smashed his nose.” Spike closed his eyes. “Not deliberately. He'd been following Vicious's lead and they'd jumped me while I was asleep. Hell, Sensei hadn't even put me with the others yet. It was just days after Mao had taken me out of Deseado. I was still a fuckin' miserable wreck. Needless to say, it didn't make Kieran and I instantly friends. But … the truth was Kieran's a follower. At that time Vicious was the sole pack leader in the dorm. Until I came in, then … things changed. Loyalties split. More or less, if there was trouble, either Vicious and I were behind it. Sometimes both of us.”

Lighting his own cigarette, Jet waited in the silence until half burnt away. “In the match he seemed upset about someone named Kade. Never heard you mention him.” … except for countless times over the last few nights.

Spike flinched. “There's a real good reason for that.” He drew in a deep breath through the cigarette and held it for a steeling moment. “This is a real shitty ass lane to walk back down. But it's not like I could change a damn thing after it happened. Kieran's right to blame me, but he didn't have to be there that night to begin with. It was his choice that he couldn't be left out.”

“Left out of what?” There was something to the guilt in his voice.

His eyes narrowed in thought. “Wasn't long before I was initiated. Kade was older than Vicious and I, and spending his last nights with us before becoming a real Red Dragon. I'd gotten this _brilliant_ ,” he flicked a hand in the air, “idea in my head that we should have a little fun with him before he left.”

Jet blinked. “Fun?”

Spike ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “Yeah. I'd been sent out a couple times on runs with some of the ranks, saw Tharsis, seen the casinos and the bars. So, figured it would be amusing to spend the night on the town, be back in the morning before Mao missed us. Least … that was the plan.” He stopped and swallowed, looking to the ceiling, it wasn't Jet's imagination, Spike's complexion flushed.

“That's not how it ended.”

Spike shook his head. “Not even remotely. Vicious didn't want to be upstaged, so he was in the moment I brought it up. And Kieran, before he knew what we were doing, followed us the second the lights went out.”

“You walked to town?”

“I wish I hadn't been such a shithead back then … walking would have been better. But nope.” He met Jet's stare with heavy eyes. “Nope, I'm the genius who decided to break into the garage so we could take a joyride in one of Mao's cars.”

Jet's jaw hung. “Wait—you had the balls to steal one of boss's cars, as a teenager?”

He nodded. “I also had the balls to lie to the others and said I knew how drive. That was only half true. I had _driven_ a car before, that didn't mean I did it with any real skill. And after hours of gambling, playing pool, and drinking … let's just say going home didn't end well.” He averted his gaze at the ceiling. “I don't even remember where it happened, or why … I just remember the sound as the car rolled, and my panic as I realized I hadn't picked an every day model, no—the one I'd picked had been a luxury vehicle. And now, it lay on its side in a ditch smashed to hell. Vicious, Kieran, and I were ok. Maybe a touch scraped up. But after climbing out from behind the wheel I found Kieran staring in horror. There was Kade screaming through the ringing in my ears, his leg trapped in the twisted metal beneath the car. We went from future Red Dragons on top of the world to a bunch of frightened ass kids in a heartbeat.” Spike hung his head.

Climbing up onto the bunk, Jet sat beside him. “What happened to Kade?”

“In truth, I don't know. He ended up back in the dorm with us for a few days after the surgery to remove his mangled leg. The damage had been too severe to save it. Vicious and Kieran were both punished as accomplices. I honestly don't know what that entailed because I didn't get much time to think.” He finished his cigarette and flicked it to the center of the floor. “Mao was furious with me. I'd been ordered to tend to the bed-ridden Kade, who wasn't very coherent, and that duty proved extremely unpleasant. On top of that Mao threatened that if I even appeared to question an order from Sensei I would be thrown out.” Spike gripped his elbows and shivered. “Apparently Sensei had orders to make sure I'd never forget my stupidity. The drills he ran for the next week all involved target practice. And that target … was me for the duration of every class, every day. More than one occasion I wasn't permitted to dodge. On the final day of punishment I was so mercilessly beaten I literally crawled down the hall of the dorm. The next morning when Sensei woke me I couldn't get out of bed. It was a full week before I managed that.” Spike shook his head. “Sensei told me he hated what I had forced him to do, how far he had to take it. He said he'd seen it in my eyes that I knew how badly I'd screwed up the moment he made me tell Kade he wasn't going to be a Red Dragon … that had been early on, the night before they took him from the dorm. We never heard from him again.”

Jet scratched his head. “He could have survived.”

“A sixteen year-old boy missing a leg and still healing from the surgery? Not damn likely. Kade was in terrible shape when he'd been tossed to the street. We're talking Tharsis, pard. Not a great place to be without resources and barely strong enough to use a crutch. I wasn't exactly popular after that happened.” He held up his hands. “Justified. My antics had a cost no one should have paid. It didn't help that Vicious started to spread a rumor that I'd done it on purpose to get rid of Kade out of jealousy. A rumor that some of the boys believed no matter what I said. I don't think Kieran knew what to think after that. When I'd come into the group he'd been following that narcissistic psychopath Vicious, fighting to fit in. Then he'd cast his loyalty to me because I stood up to the one boy no one else would even question. Kade … well, he was just level-headed and laid back, eyes always on the end goal. In the long haul, I basically murdered the one they all looked up to right before he entered the career we were all training for. The one thing that was the salvation for us because we'd all been on dead-end roads in the recent past. We lived each day knowing full well without Mao's generosity, most of us would have been dead already.”

“Still can't believe that your sensei sanctioned beating you half to death.” Jet shook his head.

“Why not?” Spike lifted a shoulder. “In the ranks we were called to assassinate one another if someone stepped out of line. If you quail at striking in practice hard enough to draw blood you'll sure as hell fail as a hit man.”

“You were kids!”

Spike lowered his gaze to his hands. “No, not to them. We were tools, nothing more. Just chisels to be forged and sharpened. I still owe Mao for my very survival … but I detest what he made me.”

“You owe him nothing. Certainly not now.”

“Nice sentiments. But it doesn't erase the past. And it seems no matter what I try—nothing ever will.”

Footsteps clanged at a slow pace along the walkway, voices carrying dashed them both into silence. The reason for the change in routine? They leaned forward to listen. Barely able to pick out the words, they left the bunk and drifted to the bars. Warden Callus walked along surrounded by a selection of guards including the senior guard. There was a new figure, a visitor in a fine suit and a bowler hat who looked as though he never wanted for a fine meal. Callus and the man both sported cigars, smoking the aromatic stogies like chimneys.

Jet narrowed his eyes at the man and whispered, “Isn't that Richard Whitecoff, the president of Io?”

At his side, hands dangling outside of the bars, Spike nodded. “What is he doing on Ganymede?”

Callus spoke around his cigar. “We truly are honored with your visit, sir. As you can see we have some of the most sophisticated setups in the system. More than happy to share any information I can. What was this project you are undertaking?”

Whitecoff eyed the cell right before theirs and pulled his cigar out of his mouth, looking the prisoners up and down. “We're looking to repurpose the prison populace to help face the issue of food production. We'll need ways to keep them in line, both to contain and control while they work the land. Some of these boys look like they would come in handy. Tell me, what would it take to work out an exchange?”

“Ex … excuse me, exchange?” Callus blinked, looking a bit paler. “Well you see sir, the prisoners here are mostly from arrests right here on Ganymede, or in our gate system itself. Aside from jurisdiction warrants or some of the more difficult ones being shipped to Pluto, we generally don't do transfers.”

Offering a broad smile, Whitecoff tugged on the collar of his own suit coat. “Come now, Callus, I am certain there is something I can do as a favor.”

Still left stuttering, Callus hastened to catch up as Whitecoff paused in front of Spike and Jet's cell.

Whitecoff puffed out a bit of smoke. “You'd be aiding an entire population that is in dire need of agricultural laborers. We have exhausted all other efforts. But we simply do not have the woolongs to fund what will be essential. This will mean falling on … other untapped potentials.”

“Sir, don't you have your own prisons?”

He nodded. “Indeed we do. However, there has been resistance from the current residents of Io to use them for such purposes, despite how often I keep hearing of the food shortages. Now—if they came from another colony, the polls seem to have less of a negative factor.”

Jet clamped a hand on the bars. “That would involve breaking at least three statutes.”

The senior guard struck the bars and left them ringing. “Silence.”

But it was too late, the president had already turned to study Jet with an appraising eye. Whitecoff mused while still keeping a more than safe distance on the walkway, “And how would you know?”

Callus wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead before pressing between Whitecoff and Jet. “Sir, please these two have been particularly troublesome. Let's keep moving.”

“What Callus really means is don't ask us any questions.” Spike groused.

The moment Whitecoff took in Spike his eyes widened. He glanced between the two before a slow grin formed on his lips. Both Spike and Jet bruised and battered in torn and bloodstained jumpsuits from their matches.

Callus pressed on Whitecoff's shoulder. “Please, don't get too close to that one. He's got a foul temper.”

Jet chuckled, “Only when some stupid moron decides to press all his buttons at once. But I mean, who wouldn't?”

Rolling his eyes, Spike remarked, “Be nice to return the favor … oh wait. I did. How many guards did I take out before they knocked me out?”

The senior guard positioned himself directly in front of Spike and tried to stare him down. “Enough!”

“Step in the ring, buddy. Let's finish what you assholes started!”

With security more focused on Spike, who played into it like clockwork, Jet waved a hand to the president. “As for how I'd know, its kind of important to be familiar with laws when you used to be a cop.”

“A cop? Really. Then what would you be doing in here, I wonder?” Whitecoff's eyes flicked to the prison tattoos.

“That's a real good question we'd like answered. But Callus here claims that our chances of getting heard outside of here are pretty slim.”

Callus's color faded even paler than his white shirt.

Whitecoff straightened up and grinned. “Fact is, he's right. Once you have those markings you amount to nothing.”

“Even with a false trial?”

The president flashed his teeth and stared down his nose. “There are no false trials. Convicts are convicts because they have been found guilty of crimes. So, you are removed from society for such transgressions. Now, if I can get Callus to agree, there is a chance you can contribute again. Wouldn't that be nice? See the sunshine again? Feel the fresh air on your skin?”

“Gee, just what I always wanted to be, a farmer. Heya Jet, correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't Io basically a desert moon when we crash landed there?” Spike raised an eyebrow. He wasn't looking at Jet—he was reading every move the president made.

And Whitecoff stiffened. It was a micro-gesture. Just like the twitch beneath his left eye.

Jet rubbed his chin, also studying Whitecoff. “That's how I remember it too, Spike. Unless they've done some pretty amazing hydro-farming planning, I have no idea how you could grow much more than a tumbleweed on the surface of that rock.”

Whitecoff recovered that ironclad political face and adjusted his tie. “I have nothing to explain to a pair of degenerate scum that no one will ever trust.”

Callus took a few paces ahead. “Sir, there is a lot more of Bayside to see. If you'd like, we can discuss specifics in the comfort of my office following the tour.”

As Whitecoff passed and went forward with a couple guards, Callus grabbed the senior guard's arm and hissed above his breath pointing at Spike and Jet. “I don't give a shit if he's president of the universe! That prick isn't getting his hands on those two, you hear me?”

Jet smirked. “Awww, we got a special friend.”

Spike cupped a hand and called out, “Yo President Prick … no that wasn't me, it was Callus here. Just thought you might want to know what he _really_ thinks of you!”

The senior guard held up the remote as Callus's eyes burned.

Spike folded his arms, flexing the freshly healed knuckles. “Go ahead. I already proved I can take it.”

At the end of his rope, Callus waved the guards on. “We're done wasting time here. I'll deal with them later.”

Jet leaned his head against the bars watching as far as he could see them go. “What do you think that was about?”

“I dunno. But did you notice how cowed Callus was?”

“The guy _is_ a president.”

Spike nodded. “Of another moon colony, this isn't even close to his jurisdiction. Yet he comes in swinging his ego like he has a right to us … like we're livestock at an auction or something? Like you said, that shit's against several laws.”

“You sure you've never seen Callus before here? The guy seems to have a serious beef with you.”

Shaking his head, he leaned against the bars and crossed one foot over the other. “Nope. I know I can be annoying, but usually remember the people I piss off to the degree of torture threats.”

“Sooo, pard, the real question is,” Jet narrowed one eye, “what's really going on?”

“Someone has a horse in a race we're not even aware is happening, and I'm not talking one of Faye's luckless bets.”


	21. Session 21

_ **Session 21** _

Spike kicked his bloodied jumpsuit up into the sink while snapping up the slightly cleaner one he'd just changed into. The moment he finished, he rubbed his left wrist. Something felt off about it, his hand was stiff. “Yo Jet, can you give me a hand for a sec?”

Likewise, Jet was in the process of snapping his own jumpsuit up. “Whatcha need?”

“Think I jammed my wrist today.”

With a smirk, Jet took Spike's hand and eyed him. “Considering the sound, I wouldn't be surprised.” He knew he didn't have to ask, having done this enough times before. Spike never wanted to know. In a swift unannounced jerk he tugged backward.

Spike grunted and blinked his eyes. His voice a bit rasped as he held the hand in his other. “Yeah! It definitely was.”

“Back in now?”

He spread his fingers, moving one at a time, then rolled the wrist. “Seems to be. Thanks.” Moving off to the sink he started the arduous process of rinsing out his opponent's blood from the jumpsuit he'd been wearing. “You know, I never thought I'd miss the laundry machine.” The cold water ran dark red into the stainless steel sink as he worked his fingers through the fabric that was more brownish/red than blue anymore. But that was the result of fighting in cage matches on nearly a daily basis. As much as Spike shuddered to even think about his time spent in the misery that was Quidlivun Cavus, Bayside's detestable actions were in tight competition for the spot of worst. He'd certainly been forced to fight for his life, often times in the midst of a riot breaking out. That was different than having men selected specifically for execution-by-fist all for profit.

Once the jumpsuit was as clean as possible, Spike flung it over the end of his bed to let it drip dry. He left Jet to rinse his own as he climbed up the ladder and made another mark in the wall. Fifteen total now. He shook his head as he laid down. The days imprisoned had numbered more, but the victims were still inexcusable. Not all of Jet and Faye's opponents had survived either. All of it profitable to a man with a sick fetish for blood sport.

Spike yawned as he watched Jet wander over and flop down on his own bunk. The scent of cigarette smoke drifted in the air as Spike lit his own, the wheels turning in his head as to what precisely would turn a man to entertain such an activity to this extreme. He'd certainly known his share of sickos. After all, he **had** run for years beside Vicious. The truth was even Vicious had a reason for being a dick. One just didn't become that way without a trigger point, however screwed up it might be. The problem was, Spike hadn't gotten to know Callus well enough to begin to even deduce which screw was loose.

Flicking the spent butt to the floor, Spike rolled to face the wall and shut his eyes on the rows of marks. He sure as hell wasn't getting anywhere but sleep deprived. And since Callus had yet to be in the same room with him, it's not like he would get a shot. Maybe he could dream about that. Spike smiled to himself as he drifted off.

In the middle of the night. Jet awoke to the rattle of their door being drawn back. His eyes snapped open to see Spike's hand over the edge, muscles tense and fingers flared for a moment before falling limp.

Jet sat upright as four men rushed into the cell, the senior guard pointed a remote at him. “Move and I'll tag you too.”

Without much of a choice, Jet remained still, listening to his own heart racing.

The senior guard flicked his eyes to the guard carefully climbing the ladder. “Is he out?”

“Hrm, which one is the fake? Uhh screw it … yeah, he's out. Neither eye is reacting.” The beam of a flash light wobbled as he pocketed it.

“Take him, and hurry. Remember, Callus doesn't want him injured, that was the point of knocking him out.”

Two guards hauled Spike off his bunk. His limp weight flopped to the floor in a tumble which they barely controlled. The third guard waited by the door as they clamped Spike's cuffs together and hauled him out the door. The last to leave was the senior guard.

Jet darted to the closing bars. “What are you doing with him?”

He grinned, not reassuringly. “Relax, he'll be back. Go to sleep. You'll need it.” He turned and followed along down the darkened the corridors. Any outcries from the inmates were met with a clanging on the bars for their silence. Jet drifted back and sat down on his creaking bunk. If he'd had a clock he would have been watching it, marking the time. All he could do was sit and tap his foot impatiently.

* * *

Suffocating darkness. Just a strange vague sensation of existing, Spike couldn't even tell what position he was in the moment that his breath cut off and the sting of water invading his nostrils threw him into a panic. Consciousness slammed back. His eyes opened to pitch black, something sopping wet sucked into his nose when he inhaled. He opened his mouth and the same thing happened, like some membrane cutting off the air. Water trickled down his stretched back throat.

Choking and shifting his head he tried to fight it off, but found someone holding it in place as more water splashed down. He tried to pull his arms back to tear it off, but they wouldn't budge from some device holding them fast out in front of him. Spike realized beneath the drowning stream he was sitting upright with his head forced backward.

“Hey, he's fighting me now.” A voice barked. “Think he's come too enough.”

“Alright. Stop.”

A moment later a cloth snapped back freeing the air. Spike gasped and coughed in a dimly lit room. The moment his neck was released, he leaned forward, spitting out the water that threatened to invade his lungs and trying to blink to clear it from his eyes. Even the synthetic one couldn't focus in a pool of water. He was drenched, seated in a metal chair bolted to the floor up against a steel table also bolted to the floor, so much for improvised weaponry. His cuffs were locked by the magnetic lock to the table and would not budge one bit.

Nails drummed against the other side of the table, a tinny sound in the hollow chamber. Once Spike managed to gasp in enough air in the disorienting situation he tried to take full stock. Damn this was every move in the hit man's book right down to the most unsettling way to deal with an uncooperative hostage. This looked oddly like an interrogation room, and he had no clue where in the prison it was located, considering he'd been unconscious. With his arms nearly in a full stretch in front of him, his ability to move remained extremely limited. He did note they hadn't secured his ankles, just his wrists. Two familiar figures were in this room besides him. The senior guard had been the asshole to remove the cloth and set the water bucket aside. The other, across the table, was Warden Callus.

Panting, Spike shook his head as he stared through his dripping hair. “You know … waterboarding … is … illegal.”

Callus cocked a grin, meeting Spike's gaze directly in the eyes. “What happens in here **never** leaves this room.”

“Oh?” Spike coughed, trying to clear his lungs. “That doesn't … sound … encouraging.”

Callus slid his gaze up to the senior guard. “Wait outside the door.”

“Your safety, sir?”

He held up a remote. “I'll be fine.”

Narrowing his eyes, Spike huffed a spiteful laugh. “Oh ho. Looks like somebody doesn't want his secret getting out.”

Callus waited patiently as the door opened and shut. They were in a room together—alone. However the ruffled and restrained Spike was hardly in a position to do anything more than glare disconcertingly as he imagined what he would do to this man. Callus templed his hands before him. “Good, you still have spunk. They didn't hit the button long enough to drain you. After all, tomorrow is a very important day.”

“Huh, what is it? The anniversary of the birth of your asshole?”

“No.” Callus tapped his pointer fingers together. “Have you ever heard the phrase that revenge is a dish best served cold, Spiegel?”

Spike snorted a laugh. “Uhhh yeah. It's kinda cliché. I'm tellin' you, I've never seen you before. So why are you so pissed off at me?”

Flattening his hands on the table, Callus shook his head. “If only I had been there that day, things might have been different. You and I never met, but we have a man in common.”

“And—?”

“My capo was,” his gaze hardened, “Krait.”

Spike stiffened in the chair, his hands tensing at the name. “What the fuck does that bastard have to do with anything?”

“Reykholt.”

The shuddering took over. But Spike doubted that Callus would even begin to understand why. Not fear … nothing close to fear. Cold fury for a hit that never should have been what it was.

When Spike remained locked in seething silence, Callus rose to his feet and began to pace. “You had quite the reputation, well, you and that butcher, Vicious. But it wasn't him who answered the call for the hit. It was you. I was one of Krait's bodyguards.”

Spike muttered through clenched teeth, “Impossible. Not one Blue Snake walked away that day.”

Callus's foot struck the leg of the table as foam accompanied his words. “I know, I saw what you did! If I'd been there … if I'd been on time to that last minute appointment and accompanied him into Songbird's hideout I would have smelled the Goddamned rat you are!”

That threat hardly registered as Spike surged up, the only thing that held him in place was the cuffs firmly stuck to the table. “Krait deserved what he got!”

Slamming both his hands on the table, Callus loomed over Spike. “Really? Nobody deserves to be subjected to the searing heat of epoxy resin curing before their dead body is blasted to hell! You cooked him alive! Did you know? Did you even know that Songbird had an offsite server that collected the camera data? You sick fucker! I saw how you laid in wait for them to close in on you playing the wounded animal—claimed to have been a lowly drug runner. I saw you spring the despicable trap and pound the shit out of my teammates. I saw you smiling as Krait dangled from the hook begging for his life. The Blue Snakes never forgave me for his loss.”

Spike snarled, “And how was your absence my fault?”

“The trap was yours.”

“And your teammates were blind enough to fall for the 'wounded animal' bait. What is sad is how incredibly easy that whole trap was to pull off. You think that's bad? It's nothing compared to what Krait did.” Spike's knuckles flared. “I'd been on his tail for months, it was only a matter of time.”

Callus offered a subtle grin, which startled Spike briefly. “Oh … ever so eager after the Skeleton Key.”

At that, Spike's eyes narrowed, his lip lifted. “What do you know—”

“That was _my_ work. _My_ assignment.”

Spike's heart rate slammed in his chest, he screamed out, “Hits aren't supposed to be on the innocent! **You** murdered Dizzy!”

“Ahhh yes,” Callus waved a hand. “Dizzy the snitch. Don't you dare claim he was innocent. That boy was a talker and he squealed for the last time when you visited him. Krait made sure of that. I can still hear the cries of all of them trapped inside that blazing inferno. I used fire as a tribute to your work. Didn't you catch that, Hellhound?”

“I swear it, you're gonna pay for that stunt!”

Callus laughed and pointed at the cuffs. “Don't think so. Anyway. I took another page from your book. Took time to watch and learn the best revenge for you ending my career with the Blue Snakes. And of course, you delivered marvelously.” A glint of light in Callus's eyes stole Spike's acidic reply. “Tomorrow your opponent in the cage match will be special. Even better than that callow upstart Kieran I had you slaughter.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “The Hellhound verses … the Black Dog.”

Spike held his breath. _No, not Jet!_

Callus threw his head back laughing. “Oh the shock. How wonderful to see the panic. Yes, to kill or be killed by your friend? Which will it be? As I said, I should almost be thanking you. I am here in this wonderful position because I had been forced to run and change my identity to hide from the Blue Snakes after Krait's murder.”

By now, Spike was practically hyperventilating. Begging would do no good. Callus would never reconsider this. It was a cold-blooded move. And really, Spike had to admit, was well turned.

“You took something important to me, I am forcing you to sacrifice something important to you. So you see, tomorrow will be my revenge.” He came around the side of the table, smiling like a Cheshire Cat. He held up the remote.

Spike cringed backward.

“Aww,” Callus edged closer. “I thought you said you could take it.”

That moment Spike kicked at Callus's shin—hard! He'd fallen for the bait.

The warden darted back with a howl. The door opened and the senior guard rushed in, wielding the remote. Callus held up the hand that was not gripping his shin. “No! No! Don't … ”

Spike spat out a series of invectives. “You're nothing but a spineless coward! I swear it—give me one shot at you and you're finished! I'll show you how this kinda of shit really goes down! You shameless hack!”

The senior guard dashed behind Spike and brandishing the wet cloth drew it tight against his neck. He pulled Spike's head back which made it impossible for him to get enough air to speak—allowing only enough to maintain consciousness.

Callus gestured for the guard's cooperation. “Tell me Spike, I know you know this little fact. How much time on average does the brain lose when consciousness is lost?”

Only because the guard relaxed the choke hold enough could Spike respond, “Five minutes.” That was all he got out before the tension returned, pulling his chin back toward the ceiling. Spike had to give the senior guard credit, he had a deft touch at this. Not enough force to crush the windpipe, but enough to make struggling a really stupid decision.

Callus nodded and sat down in the chair opposite the table. “Clock starts now … five minutes, then knock him out. Just enough to get him back to the cell. I want a good show tomorrow.”

Spike longed to scream out more curses, but what little air he managed to get was critical. This senior guard knew what he was doing, which only served to fuel Spike's fury for the next five damn minutes.

* * *

Guards forced Jet backed against the wall as two of them hauled Spike into the cell and unceremoniously dumped his limp body on the floor. They hadn't even clamped his cuffs. The moment they shut the door, Jet dashed and knelt over Spike shaking him. “Come on buddy, open your eyes.”

It took a few tense moments, Spike's breathing shifted seconds before his eyes opened and he scrambled onto his hands and knees, coughing.

Jet braced his shoulder and let him catch his breath. “You're ok, I think … why the hell are you soaked?”

Spike looked around the cell reorienting himself as he gasped. “Jet … remind me … when was waterboarding made illegal?”

He blinked, his eyes taking in Spike's disheveled condition. “Uhhh, that was illegal back on Earth. A loooong time ago. Don't tell me … ”

Spike nodded. “Yeah, the fucker did it. I'm alright, the bastards were careful not to hurt me too bad for a reason.” But he hadn't been able to suppress his hand rubbing his neck. It didn't escape Jet that there were raw marks there. Spike gave him a sideways glance. “Didn't mean they weren't dicks about it. That senior guard is one massive asshole.” He held up a hand. “We have a serious problem.”

The tone of his voice sent a chill down Jet's spine.

After a few breaths, Spike crawled up onto Jet's bunk. Sitting on the edge he met Jet's concerned gaze. “Tomorrow Callus has us lined up for the cage match.”

“Well yes, I've been in there a lot.”

“No.” Spike held up a hand struggling to make sense of this. “Jet, he's making _us_ fight one another.”

That was a bucket of ice cold water. Jet couldn't even coordinate a reply.

“It's his revenge against me.”

“What does this guy got on you?”

A sigh escaped Spike. “I pulled a hit on his capo.”

Jet gawked. “Wait a second, the warden of Ganymede's prison is a syndicate guy?”

“Ex-syndicate. Callus was a bodyguard. They kinda don't let you stay when your boss gets literally burned. My hit nuked his career path.”

“Shit, no wonder he doesn't like you.”

“His issue doesn't matter at the moment, it's in the past.” Spike shook his head, eyeing him like he'd been ordered to shoot the family dog. “I can't kill you.”

Jet flopped down on his bunk beside him and took a few long breaths. “We have to do something about this.”

“I'm open to suggestions. I tried to think about alternatives while that asshole of a senior guard had me in a choke hold as Callus watched. They wanted to make sure I remembered tomorrow's entertainment. I should have seen this, should have made more of syndicate tactics before. Not that it would have changed anything, but even the guards are behaving like trained thugs. This ploy tonight is the classic _worry game_ , set your target in a panic so he loses his footing.”

“He doesn't know you like I do. That's not gonna work. What if we just don't fight?”

“Just stand in the ring with our hands in our pockets?” Spike snorted. “Yeah, tried that trick already. You saw how that ended. You should have seen the gleam in Callus's eyes. He's expecting this to be glorious.”

“Well fuck.”

“I know.” Spike leaned his elbows on his knees. He bowed his head. “One of us has to take a dive.”

“Uhhh Spike … ”

“Hear me out, pard. You and I have sparred before. We know each others style. All we need is one good solid hit that looks real … ”

Jet tapped his cheek. “They know about your eye.”

“Shit … well, then I guess we have to make it real after all.” Spike shook his head. “I can't suppress the reaction in the synthetic eye. If they know about that I have to really be out like a light.”

“Spike, I can't do it. I can't hit you for real.”

“You have to, Jet. The knockout has to come from you. My matches are to the death. Yours aren't always. We might be able to get away with it if the show is good enough.”

“Ugggh.” Jet ran his hand over his head. “I don't like this.”

“Nor do I.” He stood up and struck a fighting pose. “But it should work well enough if I know the precise moment and angle you're going to do it at. Callus won't know we planned this. If I move away from the strike I can minimize the damage.”

“Callus is going to be pissed. You haven't lost a fight.”

“Nor have you. He won't be expecting it.” Spike gave an abysmal grin. “He has this impression that I'm a proud scrapper. So why would I willingly throw a fight? Like you said, he doesn't really know me.” He held out a hand. “Pard, this is the only chance for both of us to walk away from this.”

Jet groaned and took Spike's hand allowing him to help him to his feet. “Alright, you convinced me. Let's make this look good.”

“I apologize for anything I will say, buddy. Tomorrow, in that cage—it's showtime.”


	22. Session 22

_ **Session 22** _

“That's not how I remember it happening!” Faye leaned against the bars laughing. “That wasn't a sailfish on the end of Jet's line, that was a tiny little sunfish.”

Spike doubled over, snickering at Jet. “The worst of it was how you tried to serve the puny thing for dinner to all of us! What the hell kind of sauce was that?”

Planting his hands on his hips, Jet offered a mock scowl. “At least I caught something with a pulse. What did Spike reel in?”

Faye eyed him as he glanced up. “An old boot.”

“Hey, that was a good boot! Ein got a lot of good chewing sessions out of that thing. Saved us having to buy chew toys.”

Seated on the floor beside Faye, Violet stared at the antics of the crew leisurely gabbing the morning away. So jovial in this grim place, as Faye scratched her head, “What happened to that old manky thing?”

Spike lit up a cigarette and grinned. “Pitched it out the airlock, the same time I got rid of those trashy novels you kept leaving lying around the living room.”

Jet chuckled even as Faye bristled. “Spike! So that's what happened!”

“How many times did Jet tell you not to leave your shit lying around?” He winked.

“That gives you no right—”

Spike looked to Jet who nodded. “Does when I told him to clean up.”

“See?” He folded his arms across his chest in victory.

Faye's lip stuck out. “Well—you still can't fish!”

“She got you there, pard.”

“Eh, can't win 'em all.”

Reaching down, Faye discovered her pack of cigarettes was empty. A moment later a cigarette appeared in front of her. Spike held it out, his lighter all ready prepped. She leaned closer, sticking the end between the bars as he lit it.

“Thanks.”

He tucked the lighter away, his half-lidded eyes meeting hers. “I owe you, for all the times I was a jerk and you hadn't actually asked for it.”

Faye's eyebrow twitched. But she didn't get a chance to follow up as Jet bumped Spike's shoulder. “Hey buddy, you remember that perp the first time I ran across you, you know, from that dive bar on Mars. The guy who darted out and thought he could get away?”

Spike stared through the cigarette smoke. “Yeah, I remember what he looked like when we nailed him in the alley. That was a look of complete shock.”

“You didn't shoot him though. What was it?”

He lifted a shoulder. “You know I don't think I ever went back and paid the bar tender for that shot glass I swiped. But it sure did end that guy's night on the sour.”

“Yeah, what a start to a friendship, eh?” Jet took Spike's wrist in a grip he mirrored.

The two locked eyes, solemnly. Spike took out his cigarette and ground it into the floor. His tone deadpan, “Been a good ride, partner.”

A guard slapped a palm on Spike's shoulder tugging him away toward the cage.

At the odd sudden change, Faye stiffened and glanced between Spike and Jet. “Wait … what was that? What did he mean?”

Jet's fist tightened. It wasn't Faye's imagination, Jet looked positively ill as he watched Spike's back.

Motion close by caught her attention. A guard grabbed Jet and pressed him after. Faye's voice tore from her throat as she threw herself at the bars. “Jet! What the hell is going on!”

Violet climbed to her feet, tracking the progress. She shook her head. “What it looks like … ”

“No!” Faye pounded her fists on the bars as though they would yield to her. “No! Not both at once! This can't be happening! We're leaving here together!”

Placing a hand on Faye's shoulder, Violet shook her head. “The only way that will happen … is in body bags.”

Faye cursed to herself, how had she missed what was going on? The guys weren't just shooting the shit, this morning had all been a stage set for gallows humor! Faye shoved Violet backward, racing along the bars to get the best view of the cage as they pushed Jet inside. Spike was already waiting on the far side, his shoulders slumped, eyes downcast. He didn't want to be in there. And by Jet's flushed complexion and sagging posture, that made two of them as the door clanged shut. This was Spike's fight … an assured death match. Only one of them would leave. And they'd known! Faye fought a lump in her throat.

Callus's laughter broke over the sound system. “The fight that I've been waiting for. Truly this will be a spectacle even for Bayside. The criminal verses the cop … though some of you knew them as bounty hunters. Both are undefeated in this cage. That unbroken record ends today for one of them. We unleash the dogs of war! The Hellhound verses the Black Dog!”

Cheers erupted into the air as guards and even prisoners celebrated. Faye's stomach soured as she heard several calling for the deaths of her shipmates, but not by their real names.

She screamed, hoping to be heard over the crowd, “Spike! Jet! Don't do this!”

They didn't react, but they both heard her. If anything it made their situation worse. All the more reason they'd chosen this morning's approach of memory lane. It was hard enough for them to bear the miserable position Callus had thrust them into. Even with a plan, this situation was bleak as a greased slide to hell.

Across the cage they locked eyes. Spike stayed loose, leaning back with his hands in his pockets ignoring the growing perspiration while the pit grew in his stomach as he dreaded this wouldn't work. Jet drew his arm across his brow, wiping off the sweat. Each beat of the heart was a tick of the clock. The countdown as the crowd cheered their nicknames.

“Hellhound!” “Black Dog!” “Hellhound!” “Black Dog!” “Hellhound!” “Black Dog!”

**Ding!**

_And so,_ Spike narrowed his eyes, _it starts._

Jet edged forward, creeping across the cage. Spike held his ground, as he would with any new opponent, his eyes apparently taking in the motions before Jet closed in at the final moment and threw a hard right. Like lightning Spike caught the fist in a cradle of both his hands and pushed it off to the side. The move had the desired effect. The smack of Jet's fist into his palms sounded more powerful than it actually was. “Gotta be faster than that if you wanna defeat me, old man!”

Old moves, new order. Overnight they had drawn on a lengthy repertoire of drills. The trick was stringing them into a pattern that looked natural for the two very skilled fighters. 

Jet drove his punch through Spike's deflection and lumbered past him in what one expects from a tank like him. Left open to it, Spike took the apparent advantage to kick him in the gut. It was Jet's turn. He caught Spike's leg and gave it a twist.

Which of course Spike knew was coming. He rolled with it, but made a perfect show of surprise as Jet tossed him across the cage where he landed on his hands and knees. 

Jet huffed a breath. “You've never been anything but a lightweight, kid!”

“Lightweight, huh?” Spike snorted. “It's all in what you do with it.” Darting into a fast run Spike vaulted up to deliver a high kick on Jet.

In an attempt to deflect, Jet grabbed his ankle prepped to throw him. Only Spike piked down and seized Jet's wrist the moment he released the ankle. As Spike opened up into an aerial twist his momentum pulled Jet over like a large toppling tree. Jet threw his own momentum into it adding to the thud against the mat as Spike tumbled to his feet. They locked eyes quickly, a hidden twitch exchanged to show everything was still good.

“Physics.” Spat Spike. “You want more lessons? Get up!”

Jet rolled to his feet. “From you? A lunkhead like you isn't teachable. All those years on my ship and you couldn't obey simple orders.”

“You mean pointless orders. All your ridiculous rules.”

Pounding his metal fist into his hand, Jet lifted his chin. “Rules are necessary for civilized life. But I wouldn't expect a parasite like you to understand that!”

Spike stiffened.

That was the moment Jet rushed him driving Spike back against the bars with a series of harsh punches. In the pattern Spike deflected them, each with a sharp exhalation. Sweat poured from their skin with the efforts. These hits were not really held back. They were full force for the effect of a real fight. 

Against the bars, Spike grabbed Jet's arm. Cheers rose from Spike's supporters. But it it didn't last as Jet tripped him and swept him up in a bear hug. 

Spike made a great show of thrashing in it. “Just like you … always trying to … control things!” He worked an elbow free and  _struck_ Jet up side the head. Of course Jet had rolled with it, and played into dropping Spike who immediately rounded on him and delivered a series palm strikes. Jet blocked and batted them away like clockwork. 

Even from a distance Faye noticed something, however there were guards within earshot. She didn't dare breath a word.  _They're just sparring!_ The one difference between this and a true fight was speed, fractions slower to allow for the read. That was it. Those who hadn't seen them spar would never have spotted it.

Jet took the lead alternating harsh punches and kicks between his words. “Never should … have let … you stay! You were … lazy … inconsiderate … and a pain … in the ass!”

Spike made a show of struggling to deflect them, grunting with the effort and letting the last one send him rolling into the bars. He laid there, upside-down, huffing each breath, his legs hanging in the air. “Maybe if you didn't treat me like a child!”

“Try not acting like one!” Jet closed the distance.

The moment he was within striking distance Spike rolled into the handstand and bucked like a horse, planting his heels into Jet's chest, sending him windmilling backward.

“Screw you! It's not like I didn't pick up most of the bounties!”

Jet mock rubbed his chest. “Racked up most of the damn bills is what you did! You cost me more than you ever made, you piece of space trash!”

Spike crouched down, and eyed him with a sharp laugh. “I'm still kicking your ass, old timer!”

“I used to take down punks like you—”

“Used to.” Spike cut him off. “What happened?”

Jet growled and charged striking faster than a tank like him had any right too. Spike met him in the middle trading blow for blow at last taking a planned shot to his shoulder sending him reeling away. “You know what happened!” Jet stomped on the floor. 

Taking a few deep breaths, Spike met Jet's glare with his own. “Someone neutered the Black Dog. Bang bang … yelp!”

In a fit of rage Jet drove toward Spike who twisted out of the way into the tight taunting dance. “Haha! Pissed you off now. Surprised an old fool like you didn't sport a six shooter.”

Like a wild bear, Jet swiped narrowly missing Spike. Just as they had planned. Spike's agility and speed provided the perfect foil against Jet's powerful blows. They just naturally didn't connect as both mimicked losing their cool. 

In the back of his mind, Spike counted the exchanges. The choreography rolling through in the tightly knit plan. Round right, round left. Low slide, roll with it, and kick! Jet narrowly evaded that one. It must've been amazing to watch as the blows came so damn close they grazed the skin. This whole sham was working like clockwork. They had to have a solid show or Callus wouldn't be satisfied. 

Spike slunk low into a snake coming up toward Jet for a core shot.

“Stand still you piece of shit!” Jet pulled his left arm back for a devastating whiff of a blow that would catch Spike's fist.

The soft sole of Spike's left shoe lost traction in a pool of sweat on the mat. Compensating for the sudden slip, Spike's fist altered course flaring lower. His breath locked in his chest as he glimpsed in sudden horror that now there was nothing between him and Jet's metal fist. This was NOT the planned moment! With his body fully committed to the now aborted strike, Spike's flailing wouldn't be able to counter this. 

This. Was. Going. To. Hurt!

Full force Jet's metal fist sledge hammered down into Spike's right eye ridge. All posture and pose was lost with the connection as his body lost all tension to the sound reminiscent of a car crash. The blow sent Spike in a head first slam sliding across the mat. 

The moment the blow connected, Jet staggered backward. His jaw hanging in shock. Spike lay on his left side, tossed like he was nothing more than a rag doll, both eyes loosely shut. Jet didn't move until his chest rose in a slow, shallow breath.  _No! This wasn't the right timing! We'd had it all planned out, move for move! What happened?_

Jet couldn't summon the breath for it, but Faye's scream cut the silence. “Spike!”

When Jet failed to move in his shock, the guards unlatched the door and several pressed in. Jet eyed them, his hands flexing. “You bloodthirsty mongrels! I'll teach you!” He tried to throw a punch but halfway through, his muscles seized from the jolt of electricity. His left wrist could feel nothing, however the fire of the nerves in his shoulder seared him until suddenly it all released and Jet slumped backward into darkness.

Faye pounded on the bars as yet another of her shipmates went down. “Jet! No!” Through the surging of the crowd she couldn't see much as the guards dragged their bodies from the cage. “Violet, can you see? Are they breathing? You have to see! Someone has to see if they are still alive! They have to be alive!”

Beside her, Violet chewed on her thumbnail. Her eyes no more able to see than Faye's. “Even if they are now, doesn't mean they will be later. I told you. Just like everyone else here, they're just as good as dead.”

Faye grabbed her shoulders and slammed her against the bars, staring hard. “They are not dead! Not Spike. Not Jet. We've already pulled off the impossible before. And Spike doesn't leave unfinished business.” Her heated glare slid up to the third floor. “Not anymore.”


	23. Session 23

_ **Session 23** _

“Ed's mission,” Ed lay in her bunk locked in the detention center's group cell whispering into the dark ceiling, “should Ed choose to accept it … which Ed has.” She giggled, everyone else was sound asleep—for now. “Is to ditch this joint.”

Reaching beneath the covers her finger searched for the button on her home-brewed chaos device. Resting it there at the ready, she gave a mischievous grin. “Mission starts T-minus three. Three … two … one!” Ed pushed the button and waited.

Jeff had night shift. That was the reason Ed had chosen tonight. He had the longest WTF time of all the security. A strange giggling sound caught his attention. He blinked as his computer screen turned into a large sloppily drawn caricature of a rogue smiley face. Suddenly it opened its mouth and began to munch on the graphics on his screen. All it left behind was a series of random flashing lights locking him out of everything! Button mashing didn't work. All the computer did was play a bloop-bloop sound no matter what he hit. That computer controlled everything. All his camera feeds were gone.

When he looked up that wasn't all! The overhead lights strobed at random down every hall and every cell he could see. The receivers flickered on full volume clicking through the channels at an inhuman, seizure triggering rate—for any who might be sensitive. Luckily, Jeff wasn't.

Jeff shot to his feet as the air vents began to shove out alternating blasts of cold and hot air. Not just that but noises from the kitchen drew him to the door. Inside the room was utter chaos. The fridge door belched smoke, the door hot to the touch as though it had become an oven. And the oven door had icy crystals forming on it. The dishwasher overflowed a torrent of bubbles on the floor. Even the toaster hopped across the counter throwing marbles into the air. All of this glimpsed in the disorienting strobes of light.

The doors to the cells popped open disgorging the confused half-awake juvenile detainees as even in there clocks flashed like a disco rave. Smoke alarms blared in response to the refrigerator. As the girls from Ed's group dashed out into the hall, Ed walked along calmly humming the song from Mission Impossible.

Ed sported a grin ear to ear as the wave of panic spread through the halls of the detention center. It looked precisely as she had planned the whole thing while hacking into each system within this joint. A gigantic smoke filled disco rave.

Jeff raced from the kitchen and pushed toward the juveniles, coughing and hacking from the growing smoke, shouting over the blaring alarms and tv broadcasts. “Hurry! To the front door!”

Of course, while Jeff went that way, Ed slipped though the cover of the smoke, which wasn't smoke at all, merely steam created from heating the ice maker, but Jeff didn't know that. Nor that Ed had triggered the smoke alarms as well. Through the kitchen, Ed passed through the loading door dock after entering a quick sequence for access. Once outside, still humming the theme song, Ed slunk along the side of the building and hit another sequence on the improvised keypad.

All the perimeter lights shut off dashing the fenced-in yard into sheer darkness. A series of startled cries erupted. She heard Jeff's voice call out, “Look, over there—head for the overhead light by the side yard.”

Ed lingered around the corner, waiting for the last shadow against the only light she'd left on to vanish around the side of the building. Then, still humming the theme song, Ed sauntered down the darkened driveway to the locked gate. A quick key sequence on her way rendered the lock useless. The gate opened as she pushed it, locking once she passed.

On the computer screen inside the office, Ed's smiley giggled and waved goodbye before shorting the whole system out down to the motherboard. Not that she'd left the cameras running, but there was no hope of anyone seeing what had happened now. In the strobe of lights, Radical Edward vanished into the dark night.

Clad in the ill-fitting jumpsuit Ed grinned and turned down the road away from where the fire department would be coming. Days ago she had used a rudimentary computer to hack the net enough to learn where this place was. Once she knew that, she knew precisely how to get back to where the  _Bebop_ had been left docked. Not only that, but she had looked for one other place. The one other thing she needed most to pull off her grand scheme. 

Ed wrung her hands together like a super villain. “Now to the pound!”

* * *

No one breaks into the pound. At least that's how it seemed considering how amazingly simple it was to hack the code-lock. In moments Ed found herself wandering through the darkened halls of the pound. The place smelled like pine-scented cleaner and … well … dog.

Pawprints in flecked paint lined the walls. Photos of the available pets hung on boards in the entrance. But to Ed's annoyance she couldn't find any listing of where any of them were. Ein was here somewhere. She could feel it.

Pushing through the swinging door she made certain that the camera feed was killed so no one would know she'd been here. Didn't want anyone finding out what happened. Back behind the Employees Only door Ed quietly wandered through chain-link fence doors.

Behind them dogs lay curled in snoozing balls on cots. Some lifted their heads to observe her curiously as she wandered by, most did little more than flick an ear. The pound was quiet. No humans in sight, except Ed.

Husky—Nope. Lab mix—Not Ein. Dalmation-shiba inu mix—Na uh.

Ed heaved a sigh as she finished searching the central row, both sides. Wandering down the outside rows now she passed door after door of sad snoozing dog. That was until she recognized the fluff of a certain tail-less butt.

“Ein!” she whispered.

Two large ears flicked up. A long pause. Then slowly the head lifted. A nose sniffed the air, turning her way. The moment their eyes met, four stubby paws pushed the long body off the cot and Ein came bounding over, wriggling with joy. His tongue slurped her hand until it dripped.

“Ein! Hehehe! Good to see you boy. Are you happy to see Ed?”

His paws pressed against the chain-link, right where her hands were.

“Ed knew you would be. Woulda been here sooner but Ed had a secret mission where she was.” Ed grinned as she opened his door and knelt down with her arms wide open. The little dog wriggled into her lap unable to contain himself. “Took Ed longer to figure out all the systems, didn't want to get caught the first time or it would have been harder. Stupid adults didn't suspect a thing. Thought Ed was just a screwy kid. Hehehe!” She booped his nose. “But ya know what? If you'd been there it would have been quicker.”

He licked her cheek as she laughed. She tossed him in the air and caught him.

“Nya? Ed knows. Ed is sorry you got left here. And you're right, they didn't automate back here. Sucks for you. You must've been bored without the net huh.”

“Woof.”

She pressed a finger to his nose bending it back until his front teeth showed. “Well, guess what.”

Ein cocked his head.

“We gots a super secret mission now. Wanna search the net for stuffs to get the others out?”

“Arf arf!” Ein wriggled in her arms, his paws going wild.

Ed set him down and his claws clicked as he danced in a wild gambol around her feet. “Alright, boy! They're counting on us. Let's go be naughty and break the others out of prison.” When she put her hand down, Ein patted the palm with his paw.

They raced out of the pound into the night headed for the dock.

* * *

Ed cheered, throwing her hands in the air and dancing in circles on the dock just outside the  _Bebop_ right where they had left her seemingly ages ago. Ein galloped around on his stubby legs barking beneath the starlight. The docks were deserted as they climbed aboard.

“Home!” Ed entered the access code and darted into the familiar ship. Closed up as it had been, the stale air had a scent of neglect about it. The minimal lights were on, showing the ship still held power. It felt so empty, wrong. The heart of it was missing.

Ed ruffled Ein's ears. She knelt down and met his eyes. “You know what we gotta do, Ein.”

He bobbed his head and trotted over to her computer sitting on the table.

Ed grinned. “Well yeah, but first things first.” She scampered past him down to the crew quarters, unzipping her jumpsuit in the process.

Ein cocked his head and snuffed. All around him things were off. The ship wasn't just previously abandoned, it was in disarray. He would have believed it to have been perhaps a series of waves tossing the ship, save for one damning piece of evidence. Trotting through the decks Ein sniffed at the small three-toed footprints disturbing the dust. Along the halls, up the stairs to the bridge where charts and other things lay scattered. Back down in the living room he noted a few of Faye's books had been shredded, make-up kits scattered. Trotting into the storage area he found crates broken into, bullets scattered, even clothing tossed. And six pairs of beady eyes watching him from the tug-of-war mess.

Barking wildly in fury at their disturbance, Ein's hackles rose.

The Six Pack, six chicken-sized robotic dinosaurs modeled after compsognathus the crew had kept from their disastrous misadventure to the shut-down asteroid theme park, peered back at him and hissed.

Ein barged right up to the leader of the bunch and glared it in the eyes. After all, Ein was the one to crack their code and hack the little beasts. Qi, the leader's head twisted on the long thin neck before it bowed, nose nearly touching the deck.

The ship was a mess and these ungrateful machines had been basking in Jet's growth lights for power while trashing the joint. Ein's nosh-providers would not return to this state, not if he could help it.

Ed came padding along now dressed in her usual attire. “There you are, Ein. I got your collar.” Clipping it on she held the name tag and grinned. “There. All better.” Only then did she notice the mess he was looking at and the unfortunate hooligans responsible.

“Oooo lala! Jet'll be angry if he sees this. Qi, what were you thinking?”

Qi turned to the others and released a scathing hiss. They all shrank back into the shadows.

Ein growled.

“Uh huh, that's what Ed thought too.” She wrinkled her brow. “No passing the blame. You guys clean this place up. We got work to do. Come on, Ein.”

Side by side they dashed back up to the living room. Ed sat down cross-legged and put her goggles on. Ein leapt up onto the table and pressed his nose to the main receiver's keyboard. Soon, both computers were running full bore, teasing out the schematics of Ganymede's Bayside Prison. No security barrier was too tight to keep them out.

They were going to reunite the crew!


	24. Session 24

_ **Session 24** _

This entire situation was intolerable. Faye stared down at the nearly full pack of cigarettes in her hand. The pack she had discovered in her pocket once she got back to her cell. The pack … that Spike had taken one out of … for her.

His pack.

It meant that leaning against the bars, while he was lighting her cigarette he had used those damn slick fingers of his to secretly deliver the whole pack to her pocket. It was like someone took every human emotion, tossed it into a blender and smashed the button stuck on puree. All at once she was endeared, worried, and livid with Spike.

“He had known.” Her eyebrow twitched. “He had to have known he was going down. Known he wouldn't need them.” She shut her stinging eyes tightly.

Violet blinked at her. “What are you talking about?”

“That stupid ass!” Faye held the pack closer to her chest. “Did he really think this would make it alright?” Her throat began to tighten. What if that had been it … no chance to say goodbye. “That damn idiot—how many times does he have to go off and fucking die? No! I refuse to believe it. He's not dead because … because I owe him a solid punch to the gut for this! For not letting me in on this. Am I not a member of the crew? Am I?”

Having not received an answer Violet shifted further from Faye, edging toward the bars of their cell.

“And Jet,” Faye pulled out a cigarette and lit it, her hand trembling, “I expect Spike to pull shit, but Jet? Jet's the damn straight arrow. How could he do that … to me? How could he stand right there on the other side of the bars knowing what he knew and not say a damn word to me. He owed me the truth. Now what if he's gone too?”

Violet cleared her throat. “Ahem, cellmate here. I have no idea what you mean.”

Running a hand through her hair, Faye couldn't stop the trembling as reality smacked her upside the head. “Those two conniving jerks. I don't know why I care about them … I mean they're … rude, irresponsible, … disgusting. I mean, the way they lived in that bachelor pad of a ship. It was terrible. Like they'd never heard of cleaning up after themselves.” Even as she said it, Faye shoved the thought away of how little of her floor could actually be seen.

“Faye, are you listening?”

She sniffled, watching the smoke tendrils rise. “And yet I kept coming back to that damn ship, time and again like I never had before to anywhere else. What if they are gone this time … truly gone? What if this is all over, and this is where it ends for me? Alone … ”

Violet rolled her eyes.

“ … locked in this cell for the rest of the my life. Or until that psychotic asshole of a warden has me murdered like Spike's old friend. Oh God, I'm too young to die …” her living years, not the ones spent on ice in cryo, “ … never mind how old I actually am. Life isn't fair!” She slammed her fist down on her knee. “Damn it! I find a place where I belong and some dickhead has to go and kill off my family.”

“Family?” Violet scratched her head. “You guys don't look related. Wait … are you married to one of them?”

Faye fixed her with a glare that could melt glass.

Holding up her hands Violet backed away. “Ok. Ok. Not-my-business. Got the message. So your guys are dead and now you're alone and shit. Not exactly an original story around here, you know. A lot of folks have had their posses cut down in this shithole.”

The moment Violet said it, a pit opened in Faye's stomach. What if it was true? What if the guys were actually … truly … dead? She had no way of knowing. Drawing her knees up, she rested her forehead there taking in a deep gulp of a breath to steady herself. “I have to know … I have to know if they're alright.”

Violet heaved a sigh and looked out the bars as a guard wandered by. “Hey, psst. I got a question.”

The guard tapped her remote as she paused outside the door, eyeing Violet's number. “What, you piece of shit?”

“My uhhh cellmate here knew two of the guys who fought today. Any chance of finding out if they still got pulses?”

The guard smirked. “Who?”

“You know, Hellhound and the Black Dog?”

“Hah. Those two? Not a chance of getting info.”

“Why not?”

The guard smacked the bars and left them ringing. “Lights out.”

In the dark, Faye sat staring at the ember at the end of her cigarette, whispering, “Lunkhead.”

* * *

The burning sensation in Jet's shoulder pulled at his consciousness, dragging him up from the black abyss into an aching reality. He hurt, all over. The kind of hurt associated with a rough landing of the ol' _Bebop_. No, that wasn't quite right. This felt more electrical. The aftereffects of tension wrought by electrical shock layered over the physical force damage. Injured muscle fiber over bruised flesh.

_Spike_. Some vague thought played in the back of his mind. Jet's muddled brain was slow to put anything together. He was overwhelmed by the desire to just go back to sleep. A nagging feeling told him not to.

Slowly, Jet opened his eyes. It was dark in the cell, past lights out for the night. He was sprawled on the floor staring at his bunk. Every fiber of his left shoulder felt as if someone had taken a blowtorch and heated the metal of his arm. His right wrist ached a bit too, where the metal rode. Pushing up, he glanced at it in the dim light to find a few scorch lines traveling close to his cuff.

Grunting, he sat up and rubbed his temples. Stiff from lying on the floor, he tried to recall what had happened, the details were fuzzy. The cage, a big fight, a scheme … Spike. That's right, Spike had been involved.

Jet turned around and in relief discovered Spike lying on his right side, facing away from him. It appeared as though he hadn't moved from when they'd been dragged here. Scooting over, Jet sighed and tapped Spike's shoulder. “Alright kid, time to wake up.”

Spike was breathing, but he didn't respond. Not that that was unusual. He was known for being quite lazy.

Pulling on Spike's shoulder Jet tipped him onto his back. He rolled without any resistance. In the dim light Jet held his breath. A huge technicolor swollen blotch marred Spike's right eye as though some child attempted to make an inkblot test in red, black, blue, and purple. Though the swelling there was no way the muscles alone could open the eyelid. It was possible beneath all that damage the bones were broken. Carefully, Jet probed through the swelling around the socket. By some sheer miracle, he discovered no bones shifting or grinding above or below. The structure seemed solid. And through all that exploration, Spike had not so much as twitched. Not a good sign.

_That hit_ … Jet looked at his right knuckles. They weren't as freshly bruised as Spike's face. His brain scrambled for an explanation as to what could have done that much damage … his left fist flexed in front of his own eyes. “Ohhhhh … noooo.”

Bending over Spike he pried the left eye open, shining the lighter's flame close by. Nothing. He forced the swollen right lid open and pressed the flame close. Not a Goddamn thing. No signal to the cybernetic eye meant … Spike was deeply unconscious. Possibly brain damaged.

“Shit. Shit. Shit!” Jet sat back on his heels. “If only I had a damn brain scanner. I have no way of knowing how bad the damage is. For all I know I could have killed you and you know … you're too damn stubborn just to die. For some reason I can see you pulling that crap on me.”

Spike naturally did not react to the ranting. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. At least that much was working.

There had to be some way Jet could evaluate more. Some other impulse he could check. Then … it dawned on him. He filled the mug from the sink and dashed back to Spike, ignoring the numerous aches of his own body. Bracing Spike's head up he hesitated for a moment.

Callus and the senior guard had waterboarded Spike.

Glancing down at the mug of water in his own hand he shut his eyes and groaned. This wasn't the same thing. But if Spike regained consciousness like this … No. He opened his eyes. This had to be done. He had to know if the damage was deep enough to kill all reflexes. And this particular one ran deeper than visual.

Carefully, Jet poured a mouthful of water in and massaged Spike's throat.

Beneath his fingers he felt the slow reflex as the muscles coordinated the life preserving function. Spike swallowed.

Jet heaved a sigh of relief, rubbing Spike's shoulder. “Thank God!” It wasn't much, but it was proof that some channels other than vitals still existed. The body didn't like drowning, if enough response remained to prevent that, there was a chance Spike could recover from this. In small increments he massaged the water down Spike's throat. At least something for now. He had no way of knowing how long Spike would be out, and at the very least he would need fluids to survive.

Carefully, Jet picked him up and laid him out on his back in his bunk. Dampening a towel in cold water, he covered the worst of the bruising hoping it might help bring down the swelling.

As he laid down in his own bunk, Jet took a shuddered breath. He knew one thing. That had not been the target of the knockout blow. Something had gone wrong. And for the life of him, Jet couldn't remember what.

* * *

Jet shuffled across the commons, his head hanging as he approached the bars. On the other side, Faye's face lit up for a moment before her arms folded across her chest and she fixed him with a hostile glare. As soon as he was in earshot she launched into tirade. “What the hell did you two think you were doing yesterday? All that memory lane bullshit? I expect that crap from that lunkhead, but not you! Where the hell is he, Jet? I owe him a huge sock in the gut!”

Shoulders sagging, Jet stared down at his feet. “You'll have to wait til he wakes up.”

Faye's eyes widened. She gripped the bars. “Spike's alive?”

Jet gave a single slow nod.

“Is he alright?”

His right shoulder lifted and fell.

She grabbed the sleeve of his jumpsuit yanking him off balance. “Tell me something! Cut me into this, Jet! I need to know!”

He heaved a sigh, unable to meet her eyes. “I can't tell. He's breathing, but he's still unconscious … and I … I can barely remember what happened. We were in the cage. We had a plan … worked out the details, had it solid … halfway through—my memory all goes blank. I wake up in our cell and he's out cold. But it's the wrong shot. That wasn't where the blow should have landed.”

“Wait.” Faye held up her hands. “You had a knockout planned?”

He nodded sheepishly. “It was Spike's idea to gamble on it. He figured there was a chance they'd let it slide if it was me.”

She bristled. “You **planned** on hitting Spike?”

“Yes, Faye. Callus forced this on us. Ideally Spike would have shifted with the blow, lessening it. But ...” he rubbed the back of his neck, “something clearly went wrong. Did you see what we were doing when he went down?”

She flopped her face into her hand and rubbed it. “Spike was doing that low punch, you know, I think he called it a snake thingy at some point when I was teasing him one time?”

“Shit!” Jet tensed. “That was a move too soon! The next combo was supposed to be the knockout. No wonder why I nailed his right eye.”

“You hit his cybernetic eye?” Faye gasped and pointed at his left hand.

That sealed it. He had a feeling that's how it had happened. Jet nodded tensely suddenly feeling more queasy.

“Jet! You could have killed him!”

He shot a finger to his lips. “Keep it down!” Glancing to the side he noted the guards were a ways off. “No one is supposed to know we rigged it. We're lucky the con seems to have worked. At least Spike's still breathing. If I had the equipment I could assess him in minutes, know if this is serious or just another one of Spike's stellar moments. We won't know the extent of the damage until he regains consciousness.”

“How deep are we talking?”

“Remember what the surgeon told us about tracking the automatic pupil response?”

She nodded.

“Nothing.”

“Shit, that's not good. Was that this morning too?”

“Right before they took me from our cell. I begged them to let me stay.” He glanced up toward the sixth floor. “A waiting game.”

Having abandoned most of her anger, Faye hugged herself. “Jet … next time, please don't leave me in the dark.”

His hand rested on her shoulder. “I'm sorry.”

* * *

Lying in his bunk, Jet heaved a long sigh. Over the course of the day there had been no change. Spike still lay where he had left him, good as dead to the world. He was breathing, but his eyes still refused to react to the light. All he could do now was cling to a small thread of hope. Spike had been down for the count for a couple days before. Of course there had usually been medications involved, but still. He was hardheaded, to put it mildly.

Time. All he needed was time.

Shutting his eyes, Jet drifted off to sleep.

Hours later his eyes cracked open. Had he heard something? At the very least the breathing, that wasn't his own, had altered. It was faster, and slightly hitched. He pushed an elbow beneath himself to get up and check.

“ …. Son of a bitch … what the hell happened … Vicious?”

Jet's blood ran cold. The cadence of Spike's voice—was all wrong.


	25. Session 25

_ **Session 25** _

This was hardly the first time Spike opened his eyes unable to recall precisely what had happened … well, eye anyway. His right eye abjectly refused to open. Spike's whole body ached, which only meant he'd been up to something. But what was it? And this ceiling … where was _here_? This wasn't his lousy ass warehouse apartment in the sticks. Nor was this Mao's place.

He sat up with a groan. The room swirled for a moment before it settled. He was up higher, not at a normal bed height. Crawling down the ladder at the foot of the bed he staggered across the floor in the dim light, one hand pressed against the right side of his face. It was warm and tender, swollen too. Felt a bit like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it.

“ …. Son of a bitch … what the hell happened … Vicious?” What had he been doing before? Vaguely it came to him. A call in the middle of the night summoning him from an already restless night. Meeting Vicious outside a warehouse to pick the door's padlock. There'd been an armored truck inside, the wheels removed. They were supposed to steal whatever they found inside, ISSP stuff of some sort. The last thing Spike recalled was working on putting a C-4 charge together before it all blacked out.

He blinked at the steel bar his left hand groped. Strange metal weights on his wrist drew his gaze down. Weird, he never wore anything on his wrists as a rule. The dim light caught the prison tattoo running down his forearm. He tried to rub it off to no effect. “Oh fuck! I got collared? I got collared! Damn it, that'll tie up the lawyers trying to dissolve a record. Now Mao's gonna be pissed at me!” Leaning against the bars he hissed out, “Vicious, you better be working on getting me out of here … wherever _here_ is.”

“Spike?”

He spun around toward the source a little too swiftly. The world kept moving for a second before it settled back and his left eye focused on a burly figure standing by the bunks. Spike narrowed his eye. The guy had said his name like he knew him.

“Seriously,” the gruff voice continued as he stepped closer, holding a hand out toward Spike, “What are you doing standing up? You should be taking it easy, partner.”

“Partner?” Spike braced against the bars of the cell in case he needed to launch an attack. Did **this** guy have balls. “Uhh, try again. You sure as hell ain't anything resembling Vicious. Shit, you're like two of his rail thin ass combined.”

The man stiffened and came to a halt. In the dim light Spike's instinct started to assess this potential threat. Older man, somewhat scarred and recently roughed up. A heavy weight in a bloodstained jumpsuit, but he was marked with the prison tattoo as well, right arm instead of left... why? Ohh, he had a metal left arm, and judging from the rips in the jumpsuit looked to be from the shoulder. He moved with some tight authority that didn't match a common thug. Soldier? No … more like a damn cop. ISSP, Spike would bet on that easy. A cop in prison? Almost laughable. Almost.

He gestured to himself. “Easy now, Spike. You got a serious concussion. Don't you recognize me? Jet?”

Slowly, keeping his one good eye locked on this Jet person, Spike shook his head. “Never seen you before in my life. What is this, some wild-ass ploy from a cop on the take to get something outta me? Fat chance. I don't fall for cons that piss poor.”

Jet stiffened. “Cop on the take? No way. You know that's why I left the force, pard.”

_ISSP, nailed it!_ Laughing, Spike pointed. “There you go again with that bullshit. Who you think you're fooling, old man? There's no way I'd ever team up with a cop.”

Jet swallowed, his eyes creasing with concern.

_Aww, what a cute little act. If he thinks that's gonna fool me I got a moon to sell him._

“Yo Spike, buddy … we've been friends for years now.”

“Try again on some more gullible sap.” Locating the cigarettes and the lighter in his pocket, Spike pulled one out, lit it and savored the smoke. “Needed that.”

Coming a bit closer, Jet held his hand up, keeping his voice soft as Spike offered him a threatening glare. “Easy. I don't mean you any harm. I'm really worried about you. Hey, what year do you think this is?”

Spike cocked his left eyebrow. “Tch. You senile as well as old?” He put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the bars. “What kinda question is that? It's 2063.”

The color drained from Jet's face. He took a step back and rubbed the bare skin of his head. “Hate to tell you this, but you're off … by quite a few years. Like over a decade.” He stared Spike right in the eye. “You have to listen to me. That guy you called out to? Vicious? He's dead.”

That couldn't be right. He was just trying to throw him off so he had the advantage of shock. Spike shook his head slowly, pulled the cigarette from his lips and smirked. “Not a chance. Vicious is tough as nails. Nobody gets the drop on my partner.”

“He's not your partner anymore. You've been split up for a long time. In fact, you haven't been a Red Dragon for years.”

Spike pumped a fist. His temper starting to flare at this man's baldfaced lies. He huffed a breath. “Keep going if you want to die, pal. Won't be the first time I killed without an order. Mao will understand.”

He held up his hands. “I'm serious. Vicious betrayed you. He murdered Mao.”

“No! He never would have done that!” Spike hissed, stepping toward Jet with fire in his one open eye. “Vicious is as loyal to the syndicate as I am!”

But Jet continued pressing on. “Vicious murdered Mao to lure you out of hiding. He tried to kill you in a bloody cathedral. When that didn't work, he ran a coop to take over the Red Dragons. You almost died when you took him and the organization out.”

“Liar!” Spike charged him with a fist raised sending Jet backpedaling into the lower bunk. “Who the fuck do you think you are! You don't know a damn thing about me! … Or Vicious! Not if you'd say a thing like that!” His right eye throbbed, his left eye watered from the stinging. The reason he didn't deliver the blow, he could hardly focus.

Jet held his hands wide and swallowed. The man was trembling so hard the metal cuff rattled against his wrist. “Spike, take it easy. You'd been unconscious for over a full day, you aren't thinking right.”

“I'm thinking just fine. Keep talking and you won't be much longer!” 

“Look at yourself—the condition of your clothes. They're all torn up and bloodstained. You didn't _just_ get thrown in here. We've both been locked in here for weeks.”

_Weeks? No … that can't be right._ He cleared the tearing from his left eye, pressing his palm against the right trying to relieve the pain. The damn thing was so swollen and Spike couldn't reason what the hell could have happened with that armored truck heist. Where was Vicious? Had he abandoned Spike to the mercy of the ISSP? Blinking down at his sleeveless jumpsuit, it was wrinkled and spattered with bloodstains, some fresher than others by the color. The t-shirt beneath was equally a torn up mess. He had bruises and minor cuts everywhere in an array of healing times. Half healed electrical burn marks streaked up his arms from the metal cuffs. But his head throbbed and he didn't want to think about it anymore. Shifting his weight made things worse. Throwing a punch could cause a blackout. Couldn't risk that. He muttered, “If Vicious isn't here … I'm on my own. I just have to get myself out of here.”

Footsteps clanged on the walkway. A guard stood on the other side of the bars. “Hey, what's the ruckus in here? Quiet down or I'll put your lights out!”

Jet pushed up from the bunk past Spike. “It's ok, don't hit the button! He just came out of it, and there's a … well, just a bit of confusion is all.”

The guard cocked his head and looked at Spike. He grinned and snorted a laugh. “Hahaha! Well well, the Hellhound's up. Boss'll be thrilled to hear that news.”

Spike rubbed his neck.  _What the fuck is going on here?_

Striking the bars with the remote the guard left the bars ringing. “Back to sleep, both of you. Any more outta you and I'll forget to lay-off the button.”

After the guard's footsteps retreated, Jet approached and nearly placed his hands on Spike's shoulders. Offered a hostile one-eyed glare, he clearly took a moment to reconsider it before taking a step backward. Jet cleared his throat. “That was close. Better keep your voice down.”

“No need.” Spike's shoulder struck Jet's as he pushed past him and climbed into the bunk, lying down to face the wall in a clear demonstration that he felt no threat. “I have nothing more to say to you.” Mainly because Spike detested the idea of spending the rest of however long locked up with this old whack-o who claimed they knew one another. Spike, a Red Dragon assassin teamed up with an ISSP ex-cop? Those were unfathomable odds.

* * *

Faye eyed the dismayed Jet through the commons bars. “Alright so he's awake. What's the problem? Did you knock Spike into next Tuesday?”

Glancing back over his shoulder searching the crowd for the figure that hadn't directly followed him, Jet murmured, “I wish … more like back into the year 2063.”

She burst into laughter. Laughter that dried up as Jet remained far too serious. “You're really not joking.”

He sighed. “Unfortunately, no. I'm not. Spike is hardly in his right mind at the moment. For some reason he came too having lost more than a decade of memories. The moment you see him it's obvious. Doing the math, Spike thinks he's nineteen and boy does he act like it!”

“Come on, that can't be that bad.” Faye searched the crowd along with Jet's roving gaze.

“Just wait. To be honest, I can now answer a long standing question between us.”

“What?”

“If he and I had met when he was still a Red Dragon would I have plugged him?”

Faye raised an eyebrow waiting.

At that moment Jet narrowed his eyes at a figure passing through the crowd along the commons. Spike strode along the dividing bars smoking a cigarette with an air that repelled others. As long as Faye had known him, Spike certainly had a presence. But this one was altogether different than his typical disarming one. His mannerisms had changed. He still retained that chill vibe, but beneath it the fierceness dwelt closer to the surface. Gone was the overly relaxed facade he usually sported. Despite the current state of injury, he actually looked dangerous. As he walked through, eyeing the masses of thugs, they seemed to recognize their own and backed up, far more wary of him than they had been over the past weeks.

Of course the fact that he was even able to coordinate walking in any degree of appearance that nothing was wrong with that massive multi-color shiner marring the right side of his face might be most of their reasoning.

Jet bowed his head to his chest and muttered so only Faye heard him. “Definitive answer is yes. I would have ended that young punk on sight.”

“Oh come on, Spike can't possibly be worse of an ass than … ”

He cut her off. “Just watch. I assure you, after spending half the night locked in a cell with him, he can—in spades.”

Spike snapped his fingers at a nearby shorter man. The result was the guy backed into another in the collision to get out of the way. He didn't evade much as Spike loomed over him, exhaling smoke into his face. “Well if it ain't my luck. Tommy Barska, you're still alive? What are you doing in here?”

Tommy gulped, but unable to move thanks to the crowd, some of which were now chuckling and trapping him there to see what would happen. “Heh … eh … well … doing time.”

Planting a hand on Tommy's shoulder, Spike's smile intensified as the man cringed. “Shame your white collared ass ended up here. Should have joined your brother sooner.”

“Br-brother?” He gulped. “What are you talking about?”

“Heard the funeral was a real blast.”

Tears welled in Tommy's eyes. “How could you say that? Some bastard left him in his office with his stomach ruptured by a bomb.”

Spike grinned, showing his teeth. “Uh huh. I know. Sorry, had a bit of an itchy trigger finger that day.”

Tommy released a gurgling sound as his knees gave out.

“Haha! How did you know what he sounded like? That was a pretty solid impression of the schmuck.” As Tommy slid to the floor, Spike sauntered over to the bars where quite a few of the female population had been watching. He fixed his one open eye on Violet and cocked what might have been a charming smile. “Hey, blue's a nice color on you. You know what else would be good on you? Me.”

Violet backed up, color flaring on her cheeks. “Asshole!” She wasn't the only one to back up.

Faye rubbed her eyes, she almost pinched herself. “Jet … is he … is he even aware his face looks like someone pile drove him into concrete? He's not gonna pick up anyone looking like that.”

“Does it look like he's aware?” Jet smirked.

The next target of his asinine remark clawed through the bars at him. Spike backed up laughing, enjoying the reaction he'd provoked. “Me-ow!”

“I didn't want to believe it, but wow—you're right.” Faye lowered her face into her hands. “He's going to get himself killed. Seriously, if this is how he was, how did he ever survive?”

When she looked up, Spike leaned on the other side of the bars, staring at her. Close to him she could see the dark outlines of where Jet's fingers had impacted, darker where the bones lay beneath. There was no doubting why he only had one eye open. The right was firmly swollen shut. But even reduced to one eye he had a swagger about him that stirred her for a moment, memories of Spike when he turned the charm on. He was looking at her with desire, the way she had longed for him to.

And then … he opened his immature trap. “Hey toots, what did you say your name was? I want to make sure I'm screaming the right one tonight.”

Faye slammed her fist through the bars.

He narrowly evaded. “Whoa! Feisty! Just the way I like 'em.”

“Oh, you're not gonna like me now!” She glared at Jet. “If I kick him in the balls do you think it will reset his brain? Hold him, let's try!”

For a moment it appeared like Jet was considering it.

Spike only laughed and leaned closer to the bars, just out of range. “Like to see you try. But you don't have a clue who you're messing with.”

“A real prick.”

Winking at her, at least that's what she thought, Spike might have just been blinking, he lost interest and moved into the crowd stirring up trouble in his wake.

Faye shook her head, gripping the bars. “Nineteen.”

Jet nodded. “With all the hormonal stupidity that goes with it. How many women do you think he actually slept with?”

For a moment she blanched. Then it hit her. “With those pickup lines? Be serious. None!”

“Good point. Still … I really wish I wasn't in the same cell as that hothead now. I'm telling you, it's not funny when he gets pissed off. And it doesn't take much to set him off.”

“Let's hope he snaps out of adolescence before someone else gets set off. Hey Jet.” Faye lifted a concerned gaze. “You should tail him. Normal Spike's mouth gets him in hot water. This kid … it's going to be soo much worse.”

With a groan, Jet wandered into the crowd. Just in time to see Spike goading on a rather large thug who didn't give the impression he would overlook Spike's obvious concussion.

This was going to be a long day.

* * *

The guards pushed Spike into the cell at the end of the day, fortunately there had been no cage match for him. Jet watched helplessly as his currently unhinged partner turned on the guard closing the door and glared.

The guard held up the remote. “You're lucky the boss told us not to use this right now or I would have fried you at least a dozen times today!”

“Screw you!”Spike snarled.

It was unreal. The pitch of Spike's voice was higher than it usually was. Hard to notice the natural gradual drop in pitch, this de-aging situation made it all the more obvious. His words came with a harsher punch. An intensity that Jet recently had only previously seen when Spike was working under pressure. This wasn't the cadence of a kid with something to prove, this was someone who had already done it and didn't care anymore. No, that wasn't quite it. The look in his eye … it was a being who possessed no fear. A gambler ready to the throw the dice regardless of the stakes.

It struck Jet hard … Spike had told him once under the influence of a few whiskey shots he'd been fifteen when Mao had initiated him, a ritual more or less where he committed his first hit. At nineteen Spike had already been a stone-cold killer for four years. Effective too, he had to have been considering this was the year of the accident that cost him his eye. The syndicate footed the bill for the replacement. They didn't do that for ordinary punks. Spike had gotten someone's attention. Not only that, but overall Spike had been active with the Dragons for ten years without an ISSP record. Staying off the record for that long was no easy feat, even with the corruption.

Still, Spike clearly had no idea what a hornets nest he'd kicked up in this volatile prison. From prisoners to guards, Spike had spared few in his obnoxious display. Worse yet, after a days worth of being on his feet more active than he should have been, Spike's sense of balance was clearly degrading into a swaying gait. He almost looked drunk, but there was no way he'd gotten his hands on alcohol in here.

The guard's finger shifted toward the button, determination in his eyes.

Darting forward, Jet pressed against the bars between them pleading with the guard. “Don't do it. He doesn't know what he's saying.”

Spike grabbed his shoulder and ineffectively tried to pull him out of the way. “The hell I don't. This coward doesn't have the guts!”

The guards eyes narrowed. “What did he call me?”

“Look at him!” Jet shouted. “Does he look alright to you? Please, just leave him alone. Callus wants him alive.”

“Yeah, for the rematch.” With a grunt the guard moved off.

Jet tensed at that, shit he should have known they'd never get away with it. Callus would let Spike heal enough and then … this would be real.

Turning to face Spike he found him glaring, pumping his fists. “What the hell, old man? I don't remember asking you to defend me! I can take of myself.”

Jet crossed his arms. “Sure you can. I mean you demonstrated that today.”

“Damn right I did.” He pointed at his chest.

“Never mind the over a dozen fights I defused with the inmates. Nor the ones with the guards who wanted to hit the button and taser your ass into oblivion. On any other day you would be dead.”

“So.” Spike eyed him sourly. “What's it to you?”

“I told you, I'm your partner.”

“Heh, and I told you. Impossible.” Spike wavered on his feet as he took a step. Somehow he compensated.

Something told Jet the only thing keeping Spike upright was his ego. “Listen kid, whether you believe me or not, you better sit down before gravity teaches you a lesson.”

“Tch.” He leaned against the bars, a clear effort to conceal his instability. “I'm tougher than you think.”

“Oh, I know that. The Spike I know pushes through things. But the Spike I know only pushes it when it counts.”

“Bitch bitch bitch.” He rolled his eye. “Stop telling me what to do.”

Damn, how many times had Jet muttered jokingly about Spike being like a unruly teenage son to him? Now he knew how off that impression was. This was so much worse. Nothing he said was working. “I'm trying to help you, do you have any idea how much of a dangerous mess you made today?”

“Shows what you know. I did what I had to do.”

Jet cocked his head. “What others told you to do? Be the toughest guy in the cell block?”

That got through, Spike looked away from him. A gesture he'd come to know as his deflection when someone struck the truth he wasn't expecting.

“Someone told you that, didn't they. Well, someone smarter than that once told me it was better to keep his head down and keep the attention off of him.”

Spike muttered, “Sounds like a moron.”

Jet shook his head. “You said it, not me. Unfortunately you lost that angle the moment we got sentenced here because Callus has it out for you after you killed his boss.”

That earned Jet a confused stare. “Callus?”

“The warden.” Jet pointed out of the bars. “I told you. You're missing a lot of time.”

He hardened and grumbled, “And I told you I don't buy that shit. You speak a whole lotta bull, cop.”

He heaved a sigh. “Spike, I'm worried about you. You went out there swinging with hits from that mouth of yours and it earned you a lot of serious threats. You're not in the best shape to take this on. You have to watch what you say.”

Spike flapped his mouth mockingly. “Look, you don't know me. I've been on my own for years now. I don't need advice from a washed up old fool.”

“Petulant little shit!” Growling, Jet pumped a fist. “It's like lecturing a misbehaving child. Maybe it's a good thing I wasn't a dad.”

“Well, you're lousy at it.” Spike turned to face the bars, his tone tightened a touch. “Not that I'd know anything about that.”

The edge of pain in those words struck a chord. Jet knew a bit about Spike's childhood, and in this mindset he'd be closer to those events, perhaps making them rawer. “Pal, I know you think you're alone here. Cut off, trapped … even lost. But the truth is, you're not alone. You have both Faye and I, even if at the moment you don't remember us.”

At the closer proximity, Spike stiffened and backed away from him. The gaze growing wilder, his balance suffering more. “I told you! I don't know you! Back off!”

Jet held up his hands. “Easy now … there's no need to—”

“Shut up!” Spike pulled his fist back.

Jet dropped his hands and sighed. There was no need to defend himself. The moment Spike actually swung he'd doomed himself. The momentum of the fist carried him off balance in a lopsided pirouette, the blow well shy of hitting Jet and instead resulting in Spike toppling forward onto the floor with a startled yelp, “Ahhhh—oooof!”

Crouching down, Jet met his confused blinking stare out of the one good eye. “Finished?”

Spike huffed a breath. “When the room stops spinning … I'm going to hit you.”

“Not likely. You see, pard, reduced to one eye means your depth perception is seriously off. Not to mention that you've been unsteady on your feet for at least the last few hours. Your balance is compromised. Throw another punch, you'll be right back down there again.”

Grunting, Spike drummed his fingers on the floor.

“Want a hand up?”

“No.” He shifted a bit, but it didn't get him anywhere.

Jet stood up and rolled onto his bunk. “Suit yourself. Your stubborn ass can stay on the floor.”

And sure enough, it was past lights out before Jet watched Spike manage the wobbly ascent up the ladder into his own bunk.

Jet heaved a sigh of relief. Good. That was a close call. Hopefully tomorrow he'd be more subdued. Some reputations were inflated. The Hellhound's clearly was anything but. Even as he drifted off, something bothered him. What he'd confessed to Faye earlier. Had he and Spike crossed paths on opposite sides of the law he would have ended him … that would mean he never would have seen the day Spike took down the syndicate that made him.


	26. Session 26

_ **Session 26** _

The screens flickered, pouring light over Ed and Ein in the living room as the files spilled out in barely organized stacks. The full layout of the prison, training protocols, staff lists, prison roster including cell occupants. The hardest part remained. Cracking the security protocol.

Ed nibbled on her finger. “Hrmmm, hasta be in here somewhere, Ein. We can't just wing this or we'll make things worse.”

Ein sneezed a breath before turning back to the main screen and entering another attempted hack into a government site. There was no chance they'd get caught behind the firewall series he'd initiated before they began this endeavor. The last thing they needed was ISSP showing up to a ship that was supposed to be abandoned. Then again, no one had bothered to even confiscate it by some fortune. Powered down she wasn't easy to find. The ship ID was something they'd have to conceal prior to take off.

The list of 'must haves' kept growing and his paws struggled to tackle the start of this. Once they had the others back, things would be easier. More hands, and all.

“Nyah?” Ed sat upright and blinked at the screen. She was in the government file labeled _auxiliary contracts_. What was on the screen was hardly a contract. It was the top half of a naked woman. Ed hit the scroll key, the image followed the woman's arm down … down … down …

_BLOOP!_

The image vanished from the screen. Ed looked down to find Ein's paw on her keyboard. The expression on his face told her everything, _that is not the government secret we're looking for._

Ed shook her head. “Ooo lala. You're right, boy. That kinda research's not gonna help anyone.” Her stomach growled. Lost in the data streams she wasn't even sure when they ate for the last time. Ruffling Ein's ears she glanced to the kitchen. “You hungry?”

He barked and hopped in his stubby legs.

“Ed will make us something special.” She vanished into the kitchen to the rattle of the doors opening and closing.

Ein glanced up as several of the robot compys claws clacked against the floor. One held a cleaning rag in its teeth and was darting along the furniture knocking the dust into the air. It was an attempt to clean that left Ein's nose tingling. He sneezed again. Two more of the little pack carefully picked up pieces of the torn book pages, a couple in their mouths at a time, and carted them back to Faye's room. It was a start, but they were only chicken sized robots after all. Qi, their leader, was organizing them well and gradually the ship was looking tidier than even normal.

Maybe the fact that Ein had threatened to reprogram them into ornate metal feathered paper weights aided in their haste. When the others returned they would have enough to deal with, they needed this ship ready to fly, and by Ein's jangly name tag he would make that happen.

Ed came swooping back in and lowered a plate onto the table with a flourish. “Bon appetit!

Ein cocked his head at the human food on the plate. Was that even food? He sniffed and wrinkled his nose. Slices of bread with stuff smeared inside. He licked at the goo on one corner. Mustard. Ok. Maybe there was meat and cheese? Ein took a chomp of the corner and chewed. The flavors did not go together at all.

He eyed Ed, trying to puzzle it out. Mustard and … something sweetish that stuck to his teeth … marshmallow fluff?

Ed picked up a sandwich while typing with her toes. She munched it contentedly while singing, “Where oh where is the security file? Oh where oh where can it be? I have friends to free from your security. And no one else has to know.”

Ein glanced at his sandwich and huffed a breath wishing he had hands. He knew damn well there were cans of dog food. But he couldn't exactly operate the can opener. Cocking his head at the computer screen he pondered for the moment abandoning the current search and instead looking up plans to build an automated can opener.

Shuĭ clanked by on his tiny triple claws. The black striped machine carried an old beer can that seemed by the rust to have been wedged for some time in a dark corner.

The scent reminded Ein of Jet and Spike kicking back and shooting the shit. He'd lounge between them, invading their laps for ear scritches or to swipe a snack.

No. He could convince them to build this device after they were safe back home. First things first.

Opening a new window, Ein went at it from a different angle. When in doubt, find the info-brokers. Nothing stayed a secret for long, and besides why not have those thieves do the work for them?

Wouldn't they be embarrassed to learn they were negotiating with a dog? Well, not negotiating … getting all out hacked.

Aha! Bingo, he knew someone had to a have it.

Payment? Ha. Don't think so. The code flashed on the screen as Ein entered it. Files spread on the screen. Diagrams. Codes. And … he blinked at the schematics for a device nicknamed the Subduer functioning off a device dubbed the parasite capacitor. This was a sophisticated piece of biotech stealing electrical currents from the wearer to power it. The principle of the tech was old, humans used to have watches that gained power by the swing of the wrist. Later on devices that read body current for health. Hi-jacking the impulses wasn't hard.

In fact, Ein cocked his head, a similar tech had to be what powered that micro-computer in Spike's eye. No battery would last that long, and it would be a stupid design requiring a replacement vs just recharging. Of course, his device was meant to help. These … Subduers were meant to hurt.

Ein woofed and pointed at the screen.

“Whatcha got, Ein?” Ed shifted over, her eyes roving the screen. Her excitement banked. “Hrm. This mission just got tougher. So … how do we get them the codes they need when we can't reach them?”

Shuĭ padded across the living room floor with another beer can grasped in his claws.

* * *

Jet stood beside the bunk considering his options for several minutes. Time was passing quickly, and in the end he supposed it was far better to know the kind of day he was about to have … though he hated to poke the Hellhound, in a figurative sense. Through the remainder of the night, Spike had slept only shifting on occasion, muttering a few rather choice phrases.

Not daring to touch him, Jet cleared his throat. “Hey, kid, might wanna start waking up.”

“Mmph.” Facing away from him, Spike burrowed deeper into the pillow.

“I'm serious. Guards'll be up shortly to escort us down. It'll be better for you if you're already awake.” Jet waited, hoping to hear the deeper tone of Spike proper.

“Piss off.” That … wasn't it.

Rubbing his head, Jet cursed to himself. So much for the hope that Spike would be back in his right mind. Another day of dealing with this obnoxious shit. Still, at least he sounded less spunky than yesterday. “Have it your way. They'll just drag you out of there.”

Slowly, Spike rolled over and sat up on the edge of the bunk. His open eye half-lidded as he yawned. He looked like hell, and not the good kind. “So. You're still here.”

“Don't have a choice, kid.”

“Stop calling me that. I'm not a kid.”

Jet leaned against the bunk and met the lukewarm hostile gaze. “Stop acting like an immature brat and I'll ditch the nickname—kid.”

Spike bristled at that, but he hardly shifted. His right hand reached up to cup the side of his face, the picture of misery.

“Let me look at that.”

“I'm fine.” Spike shifted away from him dropping down the ladder with a bit of care. He was steadier on his feet than last night, but that wasn't saying a lot.

Frustration clawed at Jet as he didn't dare to try and get closer. But what could he do even if Spike let him take a look? All of it was futile. At the very least he had to say it. “Out in the commons today, you might want to be careful.”

Lighting a cigarette, Spike glared at him through the smoke. “Mind your own business, cue ball.”

Jet groaned and rubbed his head.

A guard paused at their door and opened it. “Alright, get a move on.”

Almost like putting on a jacket, Spike put on that air of confidence and sauntered past the guard. Jet shook his head and followed behind on the way down to the commons. He had a feeling he was in for another day.

From a distance he observed Spike while staying within earshot. It was still early in the day, before the cage fights. Rumors had flown overnight, spreading throughout the population and today Spike had no need to act like the big dog. One by one a group began to build around him, killers and thugs, syndicate members, these were men who admired the work of a legend in their eyes. Spike unwittingly leaned against the pole he'd been previously tethered to striking a cool relaxed pose while shooting the shit.

At the very least he was calmer, not stirring trouble up. But shivers went down Jet's spine as Spike schooled the others in wet work methodology in a tone that could have been delivering cooking directions. It was like watching a street gang version of a cub scout meeting. Able to see him well enough, Jet wandered over to Faye.

“I take it he's still an immature shithead?”

Jet nodded. “Not as bad today. He's quieter. I think he's feeling it more than he will admit, which might prevent him from asking for a murder shot.”

“How long do you think he'll be like this?” She watched as Spike's comment triggered a bout of laughter from the group of admirers.

“No way of knowing. Since he came to I haven't been able to get close enough for a good look. He overdid it yesterday. Tried to throw a punch at me.”

She looked him over swiftly.

Jet held a hand up. “Tried, Faye. And that right there is the sign. It didn't even register that aiming with one eye would be different. This isn't the Spike we know. He would have realized it and either compensated … or not done it in the first place. Instead he ended up on the floor.”

Faye shook her head. “This isn't good. What if they put him in the cage again?”

“That's just it … the guard mentioned it the other night. They're holding back on him at the moment. Callus knows he's compromised, though I don't think he knows how bad. They're waiting for him heal enough … ” he lifted a hand, “ … for a rematch.”

“A rematch! Jet, no.”

He heaved a breath. “It was hard enough facing him before. If I have to enter against **that** ,” he pointed at Spike surrounded by the scum of the system, “I don't know which one of us will walk out again.”

The door to the cage opened and two prisoners were shoved inside. Spike perked up, fed by the energy of the others around him. They pressed toward the cage cheering as the bell rung and the pounding began.

Jet longed for the partner who previously had cringed at this treatment. Not this man who delivered bloodthirsty cheers with each blow in that cage. In between each match Jet held his breath watching to make sure they weren't taking Spike or himself. So far, so good. Fight after fight passed without the guards paying either of them much attention.

By the end of the day when Spike and Jet were escorted back to the cell, Spike barely paid him any heed as he climbed up into his bunk.

There seemed little point in trying to talk to him now. So they laid in their separate bunks locked in silence. Jet stared up at the bottom of the bunk feeling as far from Spike as he'd ever been. Somehow this was infinitely worse than when he'd been missing.

Eventually the lights shut off for the night. Jet closed his eyes wondering if this was to be the rest of his life, or if some faint glimmer of hope remained that things would return to normal.

In the middle of the night, the thin mattress shifted beneath him. Jet cracked open his eyes. His heart leapt into his throat as his hands instinctively shot toward the movement seizing two wrists just in time. Wide-eyed, he stared up as Spike loomed over him with a bloodthirsty smile. Struggling against Jet's desperate grip—he held the shiv.


	27. Session 27

_ **Session 27** _

“Spike—ach!” Jet's grip on his wrist slipped, luckily it was the hand without the shiv. Spike's free hand went for his throat. The smile intensified as he laughed. Pinned down as Jet was, he discovered that he could hardly move, nullifying his strength against Spike's lesser mass. He'd seen Spike pull that before plenty of times, but having the trick used against him was quite alarming. It was effective. Too effective! All he had went into keeping the sharpened shiv from coming down. He rasped out, “Spi … ” but he was forced to gasp to catch his breath.

“Shouldn't have fallen asleep, old man! Call me a kid!” He chuckled darkly. “Come on, do it again! I dare you! I'll show you how funny I think it is, you washed up cop!”

Jet scrambled for something, anything to snap Spike back into reality. Some deep relevance that there was no way he'd ever forget. His vision began to tunnel from lack of air. What connection would prove strong enough it could never be severed from Spike's deep subconscious? Think! Think! Pushing up against Spike's chest, he stole a breath and fired the best ammunition that came to him, if this didn't work he would be dead soon. “Julia said she would be waiting there for you!”

Spike's grip tightened. Just as the tunnel threatened to close off Jet's vision, Spike released it and leaned backward. The murderous smile dashed from his face as his eye darted everywhere, frantically searching. When his gaze settled on the shiv his eye widened and he dropped it. “Jet, what the he— ”

He never finished the question. Had someone poured scalding oil on him it was doubtful the reaction would have been any less. Spike reared backward gripping his head. Wailing, he toppled to the floor out of sight, but his hitched breathing was not out of earshot.

Jet scrambled to sit up, untangling himself from the blanket.

Spike lay on the floor, effectively in the unflattering fetal position with the right side of his face pressed against the cold concrete floor. His arm wrapped around his head as he gasped and whimpered. If there were words, they didn't come out understandable.

Leaning over, Jet reached out a hand. “Spike … ”

His left eye cracked open, Spike gasped out, “Don't … just let me—FUCK! What the hell … happened? … No Jet … don't touch me!”

“Instincts?”

“Yeah … just let me lie here … for a bit … ” His voice faded off into a thin whine.

Jet settled on the edge of his bunk somewhat relieved. Though tensed from the obvious pain, Spike's voice closer resembled the deeper pitch he was used to. Eyeing the corridor, Jet flicked a nod. “Ok, partner. Just let me know if I can do anything. And I hate to uhhhh mention it … but you might want to keep it down if you can. We are in lights out. Don't want to attract the guards.”

Through clenched teeth Spike snarled, “I **am** keeping it down!”

Fortunately as the minutes passed and Spike's ragged breathing partially settled no one seemed to come to investigate. That was all they needed, further harassment. Still trembling, Spike pushed up from the floor and crawled up onto the bunk with a ginger sense of coordination. Without a word between them, Jet eased him down on his back despite the fact it was his own bunk and not Spike's. At the moment Spike sure as hell needed it more than he did.

Still panting, Spike winced, “Jet … talk to me … something went wrong, pard … this … this wasn't the right … spot … why is it … my eye? The last thing I remember … we were with Faye before the match … ”

“Good.” Jet sat on the edge of the mattress, his hand on Spike's shoulder. “You're back in the present.”

Spike's eyebrow raised before he winced again. “Present?”

“Yeah,” he rubbed the back of his neck and averted his eyes, “in the middle of our plan something went wrong. I accidentally made contact too soon. Two nights ago you came to, and you'd lost quite a bit of time. Thought you were still a Red Dragon. I have to say that wasn't altogether pleasant.”

“Uhhhh explains the shiv … ooooowwww, my head is split open!”

“Well the good news is it's been long enough now that if you'd had a brain bleed you would be worse. So we can rule that out.”

Spike eyed him and grumbled, “That's comforting.” He hissed a breath. “What I wouldn't give for a strong pain killer right now.”

“Sorry, no can do, buddy.” Jet sighed. “But I have to say, it's a good thing to have you back instead of your uh … younger self?”

“I can only imagine … ok … lay it on me … did I give a clue as to when?”

“2063 ring a bell?”

“That … was a bad year.” Spike cringed, his hand hovered over the swollen right eye. “The year this got replaced. No wonder my brain shifted to there … feels similar to the misery after the surgery. Of course _that_ hurt like hell. I didn't know it at the time, but they broke the socket open to fit the titanium plates against the inside of the bone. Needed something to mount the microcomputer to. Gave me a terrible damn headache, sharp as this one.”

Jet rubbed his chin, that explained some of the strange images he'd gotten on Spike's scans.

“Oh … and yeah, I was definitely a colorful prick back then. A complete douchebag with a bravado complex.”

“I can't argue with the evidence, Spike, you really used to be an asshole.”

“Gee … thanks,” he muttered.

“Mmm hmm. I didn't get a whole lot of sleep these past nights out of concern for my own life. Frankly,” he gestured to the now prone Spike, “this was closer to what I was expecting instead of some young punk strutting around the commons engaging in a pissing contest with ever known piece of scum in the system.”

Spike groaned. “Really? How many guys did I piss off?”

“The shorter list might be the ones you didn't mouth off to.”

Spike closed his good eye. “I am dead.”

“And you made quite the impression on the women population too.”

Tensing, a bead of sweat dripped down his forehead. “Oh no … tell me I … ”

“I think we all know why you're still a bachelor, Spike-o.”

He turned his head away and muttered something Jet didn't catch.

“Hey, speaking of that eye … do you know? Does it still function?”

Spike heaved a sigh. “I don't even … well yeah, I guess we better find out.”

“Do you want me to?”

“You want a matching shiner? Go ahead and try your luck.” He shut his left eye and took a few steadying breaths. “Let me do this … just give me a sec.”

It was far closer to several minutes before Spike inched his hand toward his face and pressed against the blackened bruise. His fingers shook, jaw clenched as he pried the lid open until Jet caught a brief glint of dim eye shine. Instantly Spike recoiled and hissed as he released the lid, cupping the damaged flesh. His teeth ground as he forced the words out, “Gah! It works! Not opening for at least a few days … but it works.”

That was a relief, and one less thing to worry about. He hadn't busted the thing, which proved that Jet had always suspected. That was one rugged piece of tech. Jet strode over to the sink and grabbed the towel soaking it in the coldest water he could get from the tap. He handed the towel to Spike. The moment he laid it across the eye some of the tension left him. “Better?”

“Yeah, a bit … wish it was ice. But this'll have to do. Better than nothing.”

Pressing a hand against his shoulder, Jet nodded. “You better stay down here tonight. Don't think the upper bunk is a good idea. Get some sleep. I'll wake you in the morning before the guards come. Give you a chance to catch your balance. Though you should be staying in bed, I doubt after what your younger self pulled they'll let you.”

Spike's eye was shut as he muttered wearily, “Told you I'd been a shithead.”

Taking the shiv with him, Jet climbed up the ladder and laid down in the upper bunk. “Take it easy on yourself, Spike.” As his eyes slowly shut he stared at the hash marks of Spike's cage match victims on the wall. His running tally for vengeance against Callus. How long before they were back in the rematch? How much time had this bought them and at what final price?

* * *

“Tell me something, Spike,” Faye leaned against the commons bars her tone biting, “did you scream my name last night?”

Crouched down holding his head, Spike tensed. “Tch!” He lowered his face into his loose palms. “Not that line … on her!”

“Oh yes, boner-head! That line! On me!”

Jet shook his head. “Lay off him, Faye. _He_ didn't actually say it.”

She thrust a finger toward him as Spike shrunk further into himself. “Oh yes he did. It may have been his younger asshole of a self, but that was still his damn pickup line.”

“That wasn't a pickup line.” Spike looked up at her, a dark baggy circle under his left eye. Though he had attempted to sleep last night, he hadn't been successful. He attempted to shake his head and instantly shut his eyes with a wince. After a few breaths he looked at her again with a shame laden gaze. “They were meant to push people away.”

Faye smirked. “Not buying it, lunkhead.”

Spike drew his knees closer and rested the left side of his forehead against one. “Trust me. I'd seen more than one careless colleague finished off by a clever femme fatale. Probably the most embarrassing way to go … you know, caught with your pants literally down.” He lifted a shoulder. “Not letting that happen seemed the best strategy.”

Her head cocked, eyes narrowed. “Did you ever let _anyone_ get close to you?”

His eye closed tight, the response delayed and barely above a whisper, “You know the answer to that.”

Jet nudged Spike in the back with his heel. He more or less stood in front of Spike casually blocking him from the immediate view of the prisoners. A thug pounded his fist into his palm, one of the ones Spike had trash talked the other day came their way. He whispered, “Yo Spike, incoming.”

Spike heaved a sigh, “Great, what did my mouth get me into this time?”

In the span of a few heartbeats, Spike stood beside Jet. Somehow he had shed all appearance of being plagued by the pain. He slouched as always offering a one-eyed glare at the scarred up thug walking straight at him. Spike knew him as Hitch, an arms dealer with a serious inferiority complex. That was an easy mark to rile up.

Hitch slashed the air with his hand. “Hellhound, I heard what you said about me yesterday.”

Keeping the cool demeanor, Spike crossed his arms. “Oh yeah? What about it?”

“Suppose you think you're funny. Not the dumbest person on this moon, better hope that guy doesn't bite it so I can take his spot.” He ground his teeth.

Spike huffed a laugh, inside he was embarrassed by that groaner. “Oh that's not the funny part.”

Hitch eyed him, clearly confused.

“The funny part is that it took you this long to figure out the punchline. So maybe I was wrong, you are the dumbest after all.”

Hitch pumped his fist.

Spike eyed him and took one step forward. Instantly Hitch shifted backward. “Thinking better of it? Good. You know the rules of this joint as well as I do. In fact … ” Spike subtly pointed to the guards now watching, “Oh, go ahead. Try your luck. I'll just be laughing as they fry your ass.”

The pressure of the guards clearly bothered him as Hitch rubbed his wrists. Slowly, he turned and moved away carting his wounded pride with him.

“Jet,” Spike hissed, “step in front of me.”

Without a pause he did so, muttering over his shoulder, “Overdid it?”

Now shielded from sight, Spike abandoned the posture and slunk down the bars, an unhealthy shade of green. “ … yeah … now please … I just don't wanna … puke.” He held his stomach and gulped in the air.

Faye eyed Jet who continued to act as cover. “Is he alright?”

“Dicking around the last two days didn't do him any favors, it's caught up with him.”

Spike managed not to spill his guts, but his deep breaths gave him no chance for a retort.

“He'll be alright, Faye. As long as we can put off the rematch long enough to find a way out of here.”

Spike glanced up. “I sure would appreciate that.”

“I still want to know how you can do that.”

“Do what?”

“Counter all the ill effects.”

Spike lowered his head. “Conditioning … not the easy kind. There are costs for pushing through.”

A startled yelp on the other side of the bars caught Spike and Jet's attention. Faye spun as the guards had seized Violet's arms and were dragging her through the crowd toward their cage. Violet cried out as she struggled, “Faye! Help me!”

Frozen at the shock, Faye couldn't find her voice as the door closed locking the panicked Violet inside where she pounded on the door in futility.

Spike hauled himself up the divider bars. “That's your cellmate, isn't it?”

“ … Y … yes. She … she's not a fighter.” Faye reached back to steady herself against the bars.

The opponent entered, the door clanged shut.

All three of them held their breaths as Violet backed up against the edge of the cage. “No! No! Please! Don't do this!” She held her hands up in an attempt to defend herself.

It was over in three moves, the final blow as Violet's barely conscious body was thrown into the floor in a bone-cracking finale.

Even Spike cringed at the sight. Faye buried her face in her hands.

A familiar nearby voice drew her out again, the guard from a few days ago tapped her betting device. “Hah, that'll teach the little bimbo to ask for information. And that earned me a tip from the boss. How about that.”

Faye turned stiffly to Spike and Jet, her eyes twitching. “Violet … she asked about you two when I didn't know … I … I'm responsible.”

Spike touched her hand. “No more than Jet is for decking me. We know who is responsible for this.” He looked up to the third floor where Callus's figure stood wreathed in the shadows.


	28. Session 28

_ **Session 28** _

“It's only a matter of time before they figure it out.” Jet sat on his bunk watching Spike lean against the bars of their cell. Their shadows cast slanting lines from the dim over-night lighting.

When he lifted his head he cracked open his right eye. Over the past couple days even though the coloring hadn't improved, the swelling had gone down. Spike had covertly kept the eye shut throughout the day.

Jet continued, “Once they know you're more stable than you've been appearing, he'll do it. We'll be in that rematch he promised.”

Spike turned and faced the bars, his expression grim as he rested his wrists on the crossbar. “We're running out of time, partner. And I'll be honest, I'm not sure who would be better off. Whichever of us dies, or the one who lives to carry the guilt.”

“Faye.” Jet lowered his head. “She still feels terrible about Violet.”

“I'm sure being alone in her cell now isn't helping.” Spike flicked the butt of a cigarette and bowed his head. “Shit, that was my last one.” He drop kicked the crumpled pack out of the cell, skipping it out over the edge of the barred-in walkway. The price of not fighting, not getting his vice.

Jet settled down on his back in his bunk. Cradling his head in his hands he watched Spike linger by the bars, staring out into the void from their sixth floor cell. “What you brooding about?”

Spike didn't look back. “The irony that what's supposed to be a correctional institution is run by one helluva rule breaker. Almost nothing behind these doors is even in the books, let alone _by_ them.” He formed a fist, his whole body tensing. “And how much I want to go old school on Callus and teach him the lesson of a lifetime. Can't believe that scumbag was a Blue Snake capo's body guard.”

“Obviously not a good one if his boss is dead and he got shafted for it.”

“As any should. That's kinda a black mark on any syndicate card.” Spike shook his head and pushed off from the bars climbing into his bunk, he flopped onto his back. Why did it remind him of the old creaky bed in his slum apartment in Tharsis? The place that was in such a Godawful neighborhood that the cops didn't go anywhere near the joint. Closing his eyes he felt a hollow pit in his stomach. Not nausea from his still aching head, no, this was something else. The void left from a deep need to finish a task, and utterly denied the opportunity. He knew this feeling. When Vicious had gone rogue and the Van tasked Spike with reining him in, their kinship had been spoiled. Spike had begged Mao for permission to execute Vicious in the field, even make it appear like an accident. The only thing that had held Spike back … Mao had forbade it. Though this time it was an iron barrier and not an ironclad oath preventing him, now Spike's stomach felt identical.

* * *

White cloth surrounded him, obscuring his vision as sunlight played with shadows. A cacophony of voices filled the air with excitement. Suddenly the cloth pulled back, the wide fabric of a long white coat. A shadow loomed over him back lit by an aura of piercing sunshine. He squinted, bringing up his small hand to lessen the effect.

“Oh, there's where my little man went to.” A familiar voice emerged from the shadow. A hand ruffled his hair with fond pressure. “I know you're excited for the company fair today, Spike, but you'll have to be patient. Your mom and I need to deliver a boring speech first. Then we can go get you something to eat. What would you like?” Beyond him the fair's midway sparkled with lights blurring in motion, carnival music filled the air, the scent of fried foods wafted on the breeze making him drool.

A dream … again … he stood far too short on the stubby legs of a toddler. Once more when he glanced down he was wearing a bright blue shirt with a charging dinosaur on it, wrinkled as though he had slept in it. One of his canvas sneakers was untied. Spike had to wonder now if that was simply his childhood, perpetually disheveled. And apparently accident prone, he had a bandaid on his knee. Though he tried to make out the features of his father, once more he remained a frustrating shadow with his hand reaching down.

Spike took the hand, his younger mind from the memory searching through a list of fair foods from cheese curds to ice cream. Every one of them triggered desire. But his eyes caught the red toy star ship gripped tightly on his hand. He swooped it in the air. “Rides! Rides!”

His mother's musical laughter broke out over his head. “That's probably a good idea, dear. Rides before snacks. You know he likes the fast ones.”

“Star ship! Three. Two. One. ZOOOOM!” Spike darted around their legs weaving between the billowing fabric of their long white coats.

His father groaned for a moment before a hand pressed on his shoulder, and his mother asked, “Dear, you did remember to bring your motion sickness medication?”

“Yeah, thankfully. I'll be ok as long as he doesn't do what he did last time.”

She tsked sympathetically. “Honey, no one remembers you throwing up after the eighteenth round on the roller coaster.”

“You do.” He sighed. “Why is he such an adrenaline junkie?”

“Maybe someone should stop encouraging him.” She giggled into her hand. “You'll be fine.”

They crouched down to what would have been eye level. Each with a hand on his shoulder. Warm … welcoming. He longed for it to last as he rammed himself into their embrace. This was his dream, damn it! “What do you think, pal? After we finish the boring stuff, shall we go on an adventure?”

Spike nodded so hard he nearly toppled off his feet. Stepping on his own shoelace didn't help.

Another shadow broke the sunlight. Spike's father looked up. “Oh hey, Lysander. Didn't know you were going to be here.”

“Of course, wouldn't miss it.” Lysander replied. “This is quite the occasion. Glad I caught you before hand. Was hoping we could chat … Oh … and who do we have here?”

His father picked him up, instinctively Spike wrapped an arm around his neck, his other hand gripped the coat's lapel. “I forgot you haven't met. This is our son, Spike.”

“I didn't know you two had a kid.”

Though Spike couldn't see the features, as in all the other dreams of like this no faces emerged, he knew he was being stared at. He half buried his head in his father's coat.

_That scent_ ! It invaded Spike's senses, overwhelming him. He knew it from somewhere, recently. The cologne. The same damn scent Faye had chosen for him to wear on the cruise ship. No wonder it had bothered him when he wore it! His father had worn the exact same scent. What had he done with the bottle? Was it still on the  _Bebop_ ? He hoped he hadn't chucked it. If he had … that would force him to have to ask Faye what it was … and then came the uncomfortable questions as to why he wanted to know. This connection … maybe it was a way to tease things out.

Time caught up in the dream. Spike realized Lysander was reaching out a hand. His father bounced him a bit on his hip. “S'ok, kiddo, you can say hello. He's a colleague.”

Spike didn't care about this stranger. All he wanted to do was pull his father closer, not to lose him again. But his father gently pried his grip loose. Spike struggled, his fingers slipping on the smooth fabric as he was pulled away. The moment his mother touched his shoulder, he flipped over into her embrace. “Awww, I think someone shouldn't have fought his nap if he wants to be up for the fireworks.” She rubbed his head as he listened to the beat of her heart, one thump at a time. So strong, so steady.

“I'll be right back, Lysander wants to talk about something.” His father drifted off into the bright sunshine.

She adjusted the bundle of Spike in her arms. “Alright, kiddo. We have a bit of time before the event. Why don't we get you something to drink? Would you like that?”

He clung to the rhythm of her heart. Safe. Home. He refused to let go longing for this to manifest as his reality. His head snapped up as everything began to ripple. No! Don't take this away! He frantically clawed as the vision disintegrated …

Spike sat up panting in the dark. Droplets of sweat dripped down onto the blanket as he drew his knees up fighting back the urge to sob. Back in the miserable confines of the prison cell, his head still throbbed like a son of a bitch and that said nothing for the list of numerous other low grade injuries he'd sustained. It wasn't fair … the way they drifted in and out like the tide, slipping through his fingers. Grains of bloody sand impossible to hold onto no matter how much he tried. Never enough to sate him, only to leave him aware of the deep starvation gnawing inside. The missing pieces he failed to reach.

Sheer fucking torture.

Something shifted at the foot of the bed. A glint off moving metal caught his eyes. Spike blinked as the gleam shifted, some object getting closer to him. Was he really awake? Or was this some layered dream? Something about this was vaguely familiar. The shape, the way it moved … the whirring sound. Granted it was dark and he couldn't open his right eye very wide meaning it wasn't as effective as typical.

The narrow snout of a small robotic bipedal creature poked between his knees before the whole damn chicken sized creature hopped up to perch, one clawed foot on each knee. The metallic feathered creature was light, just like he remembered. In the dim light he made out the black stripes of nail polish marking the body. 

He reached out and touched the thing making sure it was solid. “ Shu ĭ?”

The little robotic compsognathus bobbed his head and released a bird-like peep.

Spike's heart thundered in his ears. This … was … real. “What are you doing here?”

Shuĭ flicked his snout towards the door, though he was slender enough to have fit between the bars. A tinny voice emerged from a small speaker clamped around his neck. _“Greetings! Your breakout has arrived.”_ The voice belonged to Ed and was entirely too cheery. But at least the volume on the speaker was quiet.

Spike grabbed his pillow from behind his back and threw it into Jet's bunk. It earned him a disgruntled shout. “What the hell?” A moment later Jet climbed out of the bunk and glared. That glare swiftly turned to shock as he slapped his forehead. “Am I really seeing what I think I'm seeing?”

Ed's voice replied. _“Jet is. And Ed can see you too. Hiya! Sorry it took so long. Ed had to build stuff for this to work. And Ein had to teach the others some new things. You know how they are. Stubborn little thingies. But plan is okie dokie so far. Hehehe! Has each one in their proper role.”_

Spike stiffened and glanced out at the corridor, keeping his voice to just above a whisper. “What about the guards?”

Her laughter peeled. _“Ein has them.”_

“Ein is here?” Jet blanched.

“ _No silly. Ein's with Ed on the Bebop-Bebop.”_ A bark came over the speaker. _“Ein's on the main computer. He's almost got the last guard herded into the hall. Ohhh... come on boy, you can get him! Haha! Yes!”_ The sounds of rather frightened men carried through the speaker. _“By the cameras all the guards not sleeping have followed the other four compys into the solitary confinement hall. And Ein just had Tŭ lock them in. Hrm, now to get Mù, Huŏ, and Jīn to stop scaring them in the dark.”_

Jet's jaw hung loose before he found his voice. “What about the ones who are sleeping?”

“ _The ones in the barracks?”_ Ed giggled and clapped her hands. _“Of course we dealt with them, silly! Qi locked them inside a while ago. No one to stop you leaving now. You can walk right out.”_

Spike held up the cuffs. “Hate to tell you, but we're not able to get anywhere with these on.”

“ _Wrist please.”_

Bemused, Spike held his left wrist toward  Shu ĭ. He pressed a small device mounted on the side of his head against it. The metal vibrated. A click. It slid off his wrist and landed harmlessly on the bunk. Spike's eyes, both of them, widened. He rubbed the free wrist as if not being able to believe it until he felt the bare flesh for himself. All that remained was the deepest peeling blister from where the electrode had contacted his skin. “Shit … it's … off!”

“ _Ed knows. Ein dug up the schematics. Complicated. Took Ed a while to figure out the cracker and build two of them. One for Shuĭ and one for Qi. He's with Faye, hrm … or almost.”_

Spike held his right wrist out. “Hurry! Finish the job!” Just like before, the wretched cuff slid off harmlessly after Shuĭ touched it with the cracker device. Scooping the little metallic creature up he grinned. “I couldn't be more happy unless you'd had him bring me a beer!”

“ _Too heavy. Had to move quickly.”_

Jet held out his wrists. Spike set the creature down and leapt off the bunk heading straight for the door. “I have waited too damn long for this.”

In a moment, after freeing Jet,  Shu ĭ scampered up Spike's leg and onto his shoulder. Balanced perfectly on the extended arm he leaned out to the panel and tapped the cracker device against the pane. The lock clicked. Spike yanked back on the door hard. It wasn't fully active, no pulleys engaged to help with the heavy door. But he had more than enough adrenaline pumping through his veins to cover this.

With the compy still clinging to his shoulder, Spike returned to his bunk and grabbed the shiv. He held his set of cuffs up in front of  Shu ĭ's beady eyes. “Ed, is the tracker disabled on these?”

“ _Who do you think you're dealing with?”_

“Take that as a yes.” He shoved them in his pocket.

“What are you taking those for.” Jet scratched his head.

“In case I need a parting gift.” Spike passed through the door keeping his voice quiet. His eyes doing vigilant sweeps as they ghosted through the quiet prison filled with sleeping inmates.

“ _Keep following this corridor until you reach the large T.”_ The compy's claws caught the left shoulder of his jumpsuit as Shuĭ rode there, scraping against his skin beneath. 

That was a long way off, Spike knew that because they passed the T on the way to the stairs. When they reached there, Spike looked around. “Ok, which way?” No answer.

Shuĭ cocked his head when Spike glanced at him. “Ed?”

“ _Ed is busy.”_ There was a click, like switching channels.

Spike tapped a foot as Jet looked around. They didn't know how to reach the external corridors. This place was a gigantic maze.

Jet leaned forward.  Shu ĭ shifted uncomfortably on Spike's shoulder at the proximity. “Come on, tell us something.”

The reply came a little harsher.  _“Ed is busy with Faye-Faye right now. Please wait in the queue. The next available Ed will be with you shortly.”_

Jet grunted in frustration. Spike rolled his eyes. Nothing they could do for now but wait. It felt like an eternity standing there in silence, on the precipice of release.

“ _Thank you for waiting. On moment while Ed finds the point of escape plan. Here we are. Turn right.”_

Spike huffed a breath. “About damn time.” He took off as swiftly as he could without making too much noise. Breaking all the others out of here just couldn't happen. Too many actually belonged locked up. Not in a shit hole like this. But perhaps once out they could find a way to shed light on what was going here. Or … the weight of the shiv in his pocket smacking his leg with each stride … maybe some other solution would present itself.

Deeper into the winding corridors they followed Ed's intermittent directions.

“ _Nearly there. Just through administration.”_

Jet breathed a sigh of relief. So far, so good. He was going to kiss that little dog for herding up all the guards.

Then he noticed the footsteps had stopped behind him. He turned around to find Spike hunched over in front of a door, his eyes glaring at the frosted window of security glass. The red glow of security pad washed over him, proof the lock was engaged. In a tense whisper he rasped, “Ed, can  Shu ĭ unlock this door?”

The response was almost automatic.  _“Of course. Ed has all the security codes for the entire prison. Ed can open any lock in the system.”_

His hands formed into fists. “Do it!”

Jet shifted. There were letters on the door.

OFFICE OF THE WARDEN.

Spike leaned back and raised his foot, lining up a full force kick like a pissed off bronco.

There wasn't a force in the known universe capable of stopping him. Jet didn't even try.

Shuĭ scrambled up the outside of the door frame. He touched the device on his head against the lock panel and …

_Click._

A gap appeared with a shaft of light that fell across Spike's furious gaze.


	29. Session 29

_ **Session 29** _

Like a piston, Spike drove his foot into the door. It slammed against the wall hard enough that the knob punched through and hung up on the internal paneling. Instantly in motion, Spike launched on a collision course into the room, the moment his eyes caught motion he mimicked a motion-seeking missile toward the desk with the shiv grasped in his raised right hand.

Clearly startled, Callus jumped up from the desk chair, knocking it over as he attempted to flee. His chair held him captive, tripping him as he panicked.

Spike vaulted over the desk and tackled Callus, punching the shiv down into his hip, burying it deep into the joint.

Callus screamed and fumbled with his remote as he struggled on the floor, pinned by Spike who did nothing more than hold him. Grasping the remote in his shaking hand he aimed it and pressed the button. When nothing happened, his eyes widened and he squealed.

He hit it again.

And again!

Sweat dripped down his forehead.

Spike smiled wickedly and one at a time lifted his bare wrists. “Hellhound's off your leash.”

Callus tried to breathe and swallow at the same time. The result was a choking fit.

Waiting, Spike just kept him pinned as the blood stain slowly grew on the hip of his pants. Once Callus recovered his breath, Spike reached into his own pocket and pulled out the cuffs. “I have a gift for you.”

The moment Callus caught sight of them he threw a punch in a vain effort to break free. Spike dropped the cuffs and grabbed his arms. Unfortunately that made it impossible for him to put them on. “Jet!” He grunted at the effort. “A hand here? Hey Ed, can we latch them?”

Shuĭ appeared right beside Callus's wrist, not far from his face. The moment that Callus saw the creature his panic increased. But Ed's cheery voice came over the little neck mounted speaker. _“Absotively possolutely. Give Ed a second to transfer the code.”_

Tears welled in Callus's eyes. “No! No! Not that! Guards! Someone! Help me!”

Spike laughed coldly as Jet crouched down and held the cuff in place. “Your guards abandoned you. They all went on a wild snipe hunt. The problem was—those snipes belong to us.” Shuĭ looked up at Spike, wagged his tail and shrieked.

“ _Ok, got it.”_

The moment that Shuĭ touched the cracker device to the each cuff, they closed. Callus thrashed and cried out. To Jet's surprise, Spike released him, watching with a cold grim smile as he dragged his injured hip deeper into the office.

Picking up the remote, Spike gave the button a quick press. Callus's head flew back, his whole body jerked like a fish on a line. It was a short burst. But enough to reduce Callus into a whimpering huddled mass in the center of his floor. Towering over him, Spike pressed the button for a few seconds watching him writhe.

When it stopped, Callus took several breaths before he gasped out. “Please … don't … ”

Spike's grip on the remote tightened in a threat to push the button. Callus twitched, flinching even though it didn't happen. “Where the fuck is that big stick you were waving around before, Callus? Huh? Came across like you were some bad ass. You sure talked like it. Oh don't look at those cuffs. That's not my gift to you. It's just the most efficient way to teach an animal like you about captivity.” Spike tossed the remote to Jet and grabbed Callus by the collar of his dress shirt pulling him face to face. “My parting gift.” His left eyebrow twitched. “One final cage match!”

A pinched off attempt to scream came from his throat as Spike lifted him up and pressed the cuffs together over an exposed pipe, high enough that Callus had to stand on his tiptoes to reach the floor. Shuĭ scampered up and touched the cuffs, locking them together.

While Callus dangled, fighting to free himself, Spike searched the room with his eyes. “Course we'll do it your way. You know, rigged. Like when you put some white-collared sap in front of brutal professional killer.” He gave a crooked smile. “Guess which one you are?”

Jet shifted a bit uneasily, glancing out the door petrified they didn't have time for this. “Ed, are you sure all the guards are secure.”

Shuĭ climbed up onto his shoulder. _“Ed is sure. The only one headed your way is Faye. Ein is watching them work in the corridor. Hehe, they are trying to shoot the four in the dark.”_

“Ho boy.” Jet clapped a hand on his forehead. “We know how that doesn't work. They're too agile and can see in the dark.”

“ _Precisely. The fools have shot each other but not even a nick of our snipes. By the way, tell Spike that Ein likes that name for them. The Snipe Squad, hwwuuuhhh!”_

“Spike's a bit busy right now.”

Pausing in front of the large safe door, Spike rubbed his jaw. “Hey Ed, you said all locks in this joint, that include the safe?”

“ _Mmmmm lemme see. Safe. Safe. Safe … right here!”_

“Open it. Jet, bag up the cash.”

“Spike! We really shouldn't—” He stopped the moment Spike fixed him with a dead serious glare.

“What are you intending to use as funds while our accounts are frozen? We're gonna need the cash. Unless you want to steal from someone less deserving than this bag of rotten meat.”

Callus thrashed. “My betting money!”

On his way past, Spike punched him in the gut stealing his breath. “Our blood money, you dickless coward. Now hang on a minute. I'll be back with you.”

Jet sighed and approached the safe. “Can't believe I'm about to do this … robbing a damn safe. It's criminal.”

From across the room, Spike remarked dryly, “Stealing from a thief isn't really stealing.”

Shuĭ climbed up onto the locking mechanism and hung there pressing the device until it clicked open. Inside stacks of woolongs crammed the space full. Jet turned to find Spike selecting a large bottle from a mirrored cabinet.

Spike opened the bottle and flicked the cap away. A good quarter of the bottle of tequila sloshed within the glass vessel. Spike lifted a shoulder. “No point in letting this go to waste.” He downed what was left in a few swallows and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Damn, I really needed that. But,” he tossed the now empty bottle into the air, flipping it in a series of neat spins and catches as he closed the distance to Callus, the smug look growing more malignant, he performed a final flick and caught the neck of the bottle, “I needed **this** more!”

Drawing the bottle high he brought the thick bottom down in a swift strike to Callus's forehead. As the bottle shattered to the sound of something like a melon being struck by a bat, his attempt to scream was aborted. Glass littered the floor in shards. Blood poured down his slumped forehead. Callus had lost consciousness.

Jet stared, distracted from his search for something to cart the cash in. “You killed him already?”

Spike snorted, walking back to the cabinet. “No way, that prick doesn't get off that easy! Just getting warmed up.” Bottles clinked as he rooted through them. “I know I saw it in here … nope, not you, nuh uh, not strong enough. Ah, perfect! There it is. Vodka.” He pulled out a nearly full bottle along with a hand sized towel.

Yanking Callus's head back so his face was up, Spike spread the towel so it completely covered from forehead to chin. Opening the bottle, he discarded the cap on the floor and tipped the bottle over Callus in a thorough splash. The effect was near instant.

Callus jerked and tried to scream. The moment he inhaled the towel sucked in, outlining his nose and mouth forming a vague mask of panic. He thrashed beneath the choking grip of the towel.

Spike made it worse by grabbing the corners of the towel in his hand and pulling it tight watching as Callus struggled, the towel tinging pink as his effort weakened.

Whipping the towel off and exposing Callus's panicked bloodshot eyes, Spike leaned over him. “It's no wonder you were a failure in the syndicate. You taught your lackeys the technique, but where was the imagination? Water … yeah, it'll work when your victim can't breathe. It's miserable as hell to be on the receiving end. But if you **really** want to make some poor bastard suffer it lacks the burn. And there is **nothing** like pouring vodka in an open wound. Have you caught your breath yet? Oh good.”

Not even waiting for a reply, Spike flung the towel over his face and doused it again to the gargled screams. Callus's cuffed hands flailed in the restraints, the color already turning from the blood flow cut off due to hanging pressure. Spike held the cloth tight once more until his struggling lessened. Before he could actually suffocate, he pulled it free letting him breathe again.

“You didn't think I'd let it be that easy, did you?” While Callus gasped in air, sagging in the restraints, Spike calmly selected shards of glass from the floor knowing full well that Callus was watching him as he spoke. “You blame me for the loss of your position as a body guard.”

Callus choked, dripping with a mixture of blood and vodka. “It was … it was you … all your fault … ”

“Oh good, I didn't knock out your ability to speak. But still, you are so shortsighted.” Spike held up a piece of glass about the size of his fingernail and studied the jagged edge. “As you said, we never met in our syndicate days. Consider that a good thing for you. You forget a critical part of my reputation as a Red Dragon. But that's ok. Let me remind you.” He pressed the piece of glass against the gap between two of Callus's ribs. Not enough pressure to puncture, he let it ride up and down for a few shuddered breaths. “If I didn't kill them instantly, I exposed to my victims what they are made of. And after dissecting dozens of piss-bellied failures I already know precisely what I'm about find. If you didn't like me before we met—you're **really** not going to like me now.”

Spike held a thick piece of glass from the bottom of the bottle flat against his other palm, releasing his finger right before he slammed that into the shard, driving it into the intercostal muscle.

Callus's head jerked back and he screamed.

“Careful.” Spike selected another piece of glass. “Getting a good breath in is just going to get harder with each one.”

“Each … one?” Callus moaned. When he looked down, Spike had the next one lined up for the other side. “Icccch!”

“Ok, so I don't get distracted and lose count, that first one was Machete... this one was the guy … I didn't catch his name. But anyway, the second guy you had me off. The one who didn't stand a chance? This one is for him.”

Callus stiffened and tried to scoot away.

“Oh come on, get back here and take your medicine like a man. We have a long way to go.” Spike pressed the glass shard forward. “Where is all that bluster? Where are all your threatening words now?”

The shard rammed into his side triggering another rasped wail.

Casually, Spike selected the next shard as Callus slumped in the restraints fighting for a breath. “Nothing to say to me? Some bad ass you are. I think we can all agree now that if you had been there that day, Krait would still be dead.”

“What's the … point … of this?” Callus forced out.

Studying a small knife-like shard, Spike eyed him. “What was the point of your cage matches?” He waited for an answer that never came. Callus hung there studying him with trembling eyes. “Power trips for a gutless coward.” Lining up the shard Spike met his gaze savoring his panic, ten times worse than the pain itself was the anticipation. Never quite knowing when the strike would come. That was what exposed a man's true mettle—or lack of.

Callus squirmed. The hem of his paints dripped with his own piss.

Spike held the shard and laughed. “So, that's how little guts you possess. Do you remember how many men you had me kill in that despicable cage?”

Callus shook his head slowly, his eyes locked on the shard pressed directly below his sternum.

“Didn't think you did. Bet it's all a blur to you.” He balanced the glass with a tip of his finger. “However, _I_ know. As well as how many you forced Faye and Jet to fight. I warned you that the moment we were in the same room together you would regret this. Was I right?”

Gasping for air, Callus nodded.

“Well, unfortunately for you, now that's not enough.” Spike slammed the shard in with the palm plate.

Shard after shard pierced Callus's muscles in strategic locations until he had one for each of their collective victims. Spike doused him in the facial cloth of vodka each time he passed out from the pain. Once the full tally was in, and Callus's clothing soaked with runnels blood, Spike cracked his fists. “Now the fun begins.”

Callus's weary eyes widened, under a serge of adrenaline that would do him no good hanging from his wrists. He could not fight. He could not run.

Before Spike delivered the first blow he reveled in the recreation. Callus had tethered him to a table and sent his own adrenaline through the roof with threats, watching as Spike writhed powerless in front of him, a slave to his triggered temper. Now, it was Spike's turn to strip him of all dignity!

If one was careful, it was astonishing how much injury the human body could sustain.

Using Callus as a punching bag, Spike rammed his fists into bone, snapping them. Ribs, shoulders, everything under tension he tenderized knowing that with each shift of his body Callus worked the glass deeper into his bleeding muscles, cutting like dozens of tiny fragile knives. All of Spike's anger and frustration went to every cold-blooded strike.

It was easy for a man to lose his shit and go berserk. Far more unnerving to have a pissed off opponent controlled enough to take his bloody time. That was a page Spike deliberately chose to take from Vicious's book.

Holding the bag filled with woolongs, Jet watched without a shred of sympathy for Callus as Spike backed off from the calculated tirade after it had lasted for several minutes, running a hand through his sweaty hair, his breath came in forced huffs. He'd really had a workout. Movement from the doorway caught Jet's attention.

Faye and Qi stood in the doorway, her hand white-knuckling the frame, eyes hard.

Weak from blood loss and gargling each breath with red bubbles, Callus's voice was little more than a faint squeal. “Mercy … ”

Panting, Spike bent down and picked up another shard of glass. “Why? This is what you get when you play with fire. You knew who I was, who I had been, and yet you chose to provoke my temper. You're getting precisely the ending your asshole ordered!”

As Spike held the shard against Callus's neck his head flopped away only serving to expose the throbbing vein Spike had lined it up to. Slowly, Spike pressed it into the flesh to the point where the end vanished into the wound, the skin swallowing it whole. Callus was already struggling to breathe, thrashing his neck with the effort. That shard would migrate, cutting deeper until it passed through the jugular vein, releasing the blood flow with each squeeze of his heart. Slower than the carotid artery, more tormenting as the heart beat fractionally longer.

“That last shard?” Spike lifted his chin with a finger. “That was for Violet. And it will be the one that ends you.”

Turning on his heel, Spike made for the door, wrenching the knob free of the wall. He waited for Jet and  Shu ĭ to join Faye in the hall before he closed the door and broke the knob clean off. No sooner had they engaged the lock then Spike delivered a savage kick to the panel shorting the whole thing out, fusing the lock in place. No one was getting inside that room in enough time to save Callus's life.

Jet met Spike's turbulent eyes. “How long have you been planning all that?”

“Over many a restless night, Jet. Adjusted each time he showed a new card in his hand.” Spattered in Callus's blood, Spike looked Faye in the eyes. “I made sure it won't be a quick death. If it hasn't happened already, several glass shards are lined up from main blood vessels. All veins. If I had aimed for arteries it would have been too merciful.”

Faye glared at his door. “I wanted to watch.”

He gripped her shoulder leaving behind a bloodied hand print.

Jet cleared his throat, clutching the money bag. “We need to get out of here, unless you guys wanna spend the rest of your lives here.”

Shu ĭ skittered over to Spike, perching on his shoulder again. He peeped before the speaker crackled,  _“Ed has the other snipes returning to the mothership.”_

With a start, Jet blinked. “Wait … where is the  _Bebop_ ?”

“ _Right outside, waiting for pickup. Now, are you done? Ed wants some bell peppers and beef!”_

Spike nodded. “Which way?”

“ _Straight ahead!”_

* * *

The moment Spike cleared the door Ed leapt from the railing and tackled him. Her long arms wrapped around his neck in a wild hug, legs airborne. He realized it was her instantly and spun her in a circle, reveling as she cheered, “Weeeeee!” Her goggles flew back with the speed. Ein galloped around them, barking with glee.

“Ed, you are a chaos storm!” Spike laughed, embracing her as he sat down, hugging her tight. “But you're our chaos storm. That was amazing.”

Jet and Faye crouched down in the group huddle as Ed dissolved into giggles. The six little compys danced around somewhat drunkenly, in need of a solar charge under Jet's bonsai tree growth lights.

“Ed told you she would get you all back! So Ed remembered all of the spy movies we watched. Bond and Mission Impossible and Charlies Angels.” Leaning back, Ed gazed up at Spike and blinked. She pointed. “What happened to Spike's eye?”

His jovial mode dissipated. “Uhhh, well, Jet had to deck me.”

Ed placed a finger to her lower lip, cocking one eye. “Did Spike-person deserve it?”

Spike hunched his shoulders but it was Jet who replied as he picked the bag back up. “No, Ed. For once this wasn't Spike's fault.”

“Hey! Wait a second!” Spike eyed him.

“Glad as I am to see you again, Ed,” Jet dropped down the stairs, “We can't stay here. I have to get this bird into orbit.”

“Oh Ed can do that. Ed already flew the _Bebop_ to here. Ed can do it again.”

Holding up his hands, Jet shook his head. “No! No … let me do this. Ok?”

“Nyyooo.”

“The rest of you. Get cleaned up. Once we're good and lost from detection in regular space, I'll cook us a meal. Then we have to figure out who pulled the trigger on us.”

“I call dibs on the shower!” Faye darted down to her room.

Ed turned to Spike. “Did Ed do good?”

He cocked a grin and ruffled her hair. “Sure did, kiddo. With style. Much later and one of us wouldn't have been salvageable.”

The tink of claws up the stairs turned his head. Shuĭ carried a bottle of beer in his mouth and held it out to Spike.

“Hey!” Faye's yell echoed through the ship. “Who shredded my books all over my bunk?”

Ed crossed her arms and glared at the staggering compys.

Cracking open the beer on Shuĭ's tooth, Spike leaned back on an elbow and grinned at Ed. “Home sweet home.”


	30. Session 30

_ **Session 30** _

With the _Bebop_ settled in a high orbit around Ganymede and the crew cleaned up and back in their typical attire, they gathered in the living room around the table, each devouring a loaded plate, even Ein. There was an unspoken rule at the moment, no talk of business until everyone had their fill. A random broadcast played in the background, no one paid it any heed at all. After his shower and a dose of painkiller rather stronger than aspirin, Spike was mostly back to his regular look, but he hadn't even bothered with his tie as he leaned over and shoveled the real food into his mouth. It had been over a month since they had anything other than unidentified prison chow.

Between mouthfuls, Spike poked at the contents on the plate. “Interesting.”

Jet moved his mouthful to his cheek. “What?”

“Well, it's not exactly bell peppers and beef.”

“Do you ever do anything but complain about my cooking?” Jet's eyebrow twitched. “The bell peppers rotted.”

“Relax pard, not complaining. It's actually pretty good. This is a lot of beef, and … well … other things.”

Faye and Ed were both too busy stuffing their faces to comment as Spike took another mouthful.

Jet shut his eyes. “The beef had been in the freezer, so it was still good. Anything that could spoil, did. That meant all the fresh vegetables. So this is whatever I could scrounge up from the freezer.”

Swallowing, Spike grinned. “So, _beef and whatever was in the freezer stir-fry_. I like it. Think it'll be my new favorite dish.” He munched on another over-sized mouthful.

Rolling his eyes Jet pointed to the kitchen. “Things'll be tight for a bit with everything that spoiled. We can't risk resupplying it yet.”

Without looking up from his plate, Spike held his arm up flashing the tattoo bars and pointing at the set on his neck. “Not with these, anyway.”

At that Faye became more self conscious, her right hand cupping the side of her neck.

“That means no milk, fresh fruit or vegetables for a while. We had some bread in the freezer,” Jet eyed Ed who belatedly looked up with her chopsticks hanging out of her mouth, “but someone has been eating that, along with a selection of other random things. We're going to have a talk about the condition of my kitchen, Ed!”

“Nyyyoo? Ed thought she cleaned it up.”

Jet scowled. “It looked worse than when Spike cooked.”

Still contentedly munching, Spike remarked, “Which is why I don't anymore.”

“Beginning to think you did it on purpose to avoid the duty.” The piece of beef between Jet's chopsticks flopped back and forth as he scolded Spike. “What ever had you thinking that a blowtorch was appropriate for cooking!”

In a serious tone, he replied, “That it would be faster than the measly flame on the stove.”

“Grrr!”

Ein finished licking his plate and belched. He jumped up on the couch between Jet and Spike, resting his head in his paws for a nap.

Spike eyed Jet, “Someone's in a mood.”

“Damn right I am. This is serious. We can't risk traveling through the hypergates at the moment on the off chance the ship gets reported and we're on a fugitive list. They'll notice we're gone soon enough. Travel times outside hyperspace are so much longer. That and we have no course, we don't even know where we're going.”

Finished with his plate, Spike set it on the table and leaned back nursing a beer. Soon enough three other plates joined the stack. They sat back staring at one another before Jet held up a hand. “So, any ideas on who had motive to lock us up?”

Spike leaned his head back, lost in thought.

Faye tapped her chin. “We've pissed of a lot of people when you think about it. I mean, from family members of people we nailed the bounty on to government toes we stepped on. Oh and we can't forget Spike's old contacts.”

He sighed leaving his head resting on the back of the couch. “Historically I've had the most grief from the friends and family of those I took out. Recently that list has gotten smaller though. People like Callus are a rare and highly stupid breed. He wasn't the one calling the shots.”

Pumping a fist, Faye fixed him with a heated glare. “How do you know?”

“Because,” Spike closed his eyes, “he didn't have enough guts to have made it to the top. The moment the tide turned on him he collapsed. He was no leader. Which means someone put him there. He's not behind this. Just another cog. Someone else is turning the crank.”

Jet grumbled as he lit a cigarette. “Whatever this whole sham is. That's the thing.”

Spike cocked an eyebrow. “I can't help but wonder about Whitecoff. Out of everything, that was the most out of place. What was the president of Io doing checking out a Ganymede prison? And the way he looked at us like we were livestock for farming at an auction?”

“Farming?” Faye sat up. “On Io? I knew they've been talking about the food shortage for years, and that it's gotten worse, but that's a crack pot scheme. Unless they came up with some new powerful version of terraforming that would be like trying to make a beach resort on Callisto!”

Both the guys nodded.

All three released a synchronized sigh. No one spoke as their minds struggled for the next logical thread. A newscast blared over the screen.

“ _Breaking News from Europa concerning the epidemic that continues to ravage its cities. In recent months not only has the Europa Pox virus reached every city on the moon, but the severity has recently become worse. A deadlier strain has emerged in small pockets. President William T. Brookridge is at a loss stating that the disappearance of Dr. Daniel Nicho Adenine weeks ago from his lab where he was about to begin production of a breakthrough vaccine crippled efforts to contain the virus. The vaccine's formula and his research are also missing. Brookridge declared this a disaster as there is currently no way to move forward with vaccine production. Europa's hypergates have been shut down for months now with only limited passage resulting in a serious trade crisis. Though Europa is known for excellent crop production, they are an industrial poor colony. As the number of hospitalized and deceased from the virulent strain continue to rise, this increases the stress on the economy and Brookridge's concerns for Europa remaining independently solvent dwindle.”_

Spike and Faye stared at the screen. Simultaneously they looked at one another. “Adenine!”

Jet lifted an eyebrow.

Faye blurted out, “Dr. Adenine! From the dance competition. He was the one the Bruusikhov's were trying to steal the data from. His research,” she pointed at the screen, “he told us over dinner he had the virus's code broken down.”

Spike leaned forward placing his elbows on his knees, setting his empty beer bottle on the table. “It didn't end there. He also mentioned that because he had that he could figure out how to defeat it and how to make it worse. Sound familiar?”

“Who would want to make a virus worse?”

Spike rested his chin on his palm. “I'll give you one scenario where there is a benefit. When the grass is greener on the other side and you don't want to have to fight for it. Weaken your neighbor enough and you can just walk right over and take it. Or for a bit of offered help,” he spread his hands, “they will just give it to you.”

Jet squinted. “Whitecoff needed men to work the land because he is going for a hostile take over.”

“There's no way that will work.” Faye shook her head. “There are rules and regulations. Presidents don't do things like this.”

“Explain Whitecoff's conversation then.” Spike offered her a half hooded gaze.

“I uhhh … hrm … ” She bowed her head. “Ok. So, if you're on the right track, where is Adenine being held?”

They all looked at Ed. She blinked slowly. “Wuh?”

Jet grinned at her. “You have a choice. Clean up the kitchen or find where Adenine is. Which will it be?”

Putting on her goggles she padded over to her computer. “This might take a while.”

“Meanwhile,” Jet turned toward Spike, “time to check out that head of yours.”

Spike eyed him through half-lids. “I'm fine.”

“Workroom. Now! Or I'll drag you there.”

Grumbling, Spike shoved his hands in his pockets and followed Jet.

Hours later, with the others still off in their different directions, Ed tugged her goggles up and flopped backward. Ein nuzzled across her chest whining. “No luck, Ein. Can't find the missing doc anywhere … I know. We gotta. But this is harder then finding the breakout stuffs, and you know how long that took, boy. What can Ed do?”

Ein licked her cheek and nestled into her lap. His nose tapped the keys as Ed snored.

* * *

Jet sat up with a start in the bridge's cockpit. He didn't even realize he had nodded off. A shout and bare footsteps up the stairs caught his attention.

Ed and Ein came bounding onto the bridge, circling him as she sang, “Ed found it! Ed found it! They tried to hide him like drop of water in Ganymede's ocean. But Ed found the doctor Adenine and his wife!”

Rubbing his eyes, Jet sat up. “That's great. Where are they?”

Her computer balanced on her head, she tossed her hands in the air. “Io!”

Smirking Jet lowered his face into his hand. “Well, we assumed as much, Ed. _Where_ on Io?”

She pointed to the screen. “Where the polka dot marks the spot. See?”

He leaned close, grabbing the computer to keep her still. “The Office of Records.”

Giggling Ed shook her head beneath the computer. “Only that's not what it actually is. Who keeps paper records anymore? They're silly!”

“We have a location.” Jet exhaled and slowly stood up. “We have a location!” The clank of Faye's shoes up the steps turned his head. “Faye, go get Spike while I get us on route to Io.”

Faye stared down the stairs, her arms crossed. “Jet … that's what I came to talk to you about.”

He punched through the coordinates without looking up. “Where is Spike now?”

“Uhhh,” she cast her worried gaze on Jet, “where he's been the past two days. I've been trying to tell you … ”

With a sigh he pushed up from the pilot chair. “What now?” He followed Faye down the stairs and into the living room.

Faye paused beside the couch where Spike lay sprawled on his side, eyes loosely shut. A sizable collection of empty bottles littered the floor, a half drunk whiskey bottle with the bottom on the floor gripped in his limp fingers. “You told me there was nothing bad on his scan. He was fine. Jet, this doesn't look alright.”

Jet's blood boiled at the sight. Now, now that they knew where their target was and could start planning … now Spike had to be like this? Reaching down, Jet gripped Spike by his shirt and tie and hauled him up, bellowing in his face. “Spike, you slug! Wake up!”

Instantly Spike jerked awake. The shiner had lost some of the darkest colors, tinging lighter but still very pronounced. He was able to fully open it now, but at the moment it did him no good. His eyes weren't tracking well. He struggled to place his hands on Jet's wrists, grinding his teeth before he slurred out, “What the hell?”

Jet shook him until his teeth rattled. “That's what I wanna know!”

Faye took a step back and chewed her lip as she watched Spike's color begin to alter. That was a moment before he emitted a rather juicy belch. “Jet, what are you doing? You'll make it worse.”

“Worse?” He held tight even as Spike squirmed in his grasp, one hand gripping his now rather vocal stomach. “I'm not certain how it's possible to make things worse than replacing your blood with alcohol! Right Spike? What made you think this was a suitable time to check out?”

Spike gritted his teeth, sweet beading on his forehead. “Son of a … uhhhhggg … stop shaking me … oh God … ”

Faye gripped Jet's shoulder. “He's been through enough lately! And I tried to tell you yesterday but you wouldn't listen to me!”

Rounding on her, Jet shook Spike a little more. “Oh, so now this is my fault?”

“No!” She shouted back. “But how is this going to help?”

Jet caught a trash can with his foot and hauled it over, ramming Spike's head over the rim. “I'll show you how.” He pressed against Spike's gut, turning his grip.

Spike's eyes shot wide in shock, his hands frantically flailing everywhere trying to break free. But the end result was inevitable. A torrent of vomit projected into the can.

When he finished retching, Jet unceremoniously dropped Spike back on the couch where he curled into a rasping ball. “It's called tough love. I'm helping him sober his ass up.” Jet leaned over Spike staring him down as one trembling eye gazed up at him. He cuffed the back of Spike's skull, not too hard, but sufficient to make him wince and recoil. “You gonna do this again? I want an answer. Say it, are you gonna do this again, shithead?”

Spike rasped out, “ … no … ”

“Good. See that you don't.” Standing up, Jet stormed out of the room.

Faye opened her mouth, but she never got a word out. The next moment she held Spike on the edge of the couch as an encore torrent spewed into the can. He heaved so hard he almost fell off. Faye wedged herself there, grabbing his shoulder until the wave passed and he laid back gasping. “You really should have stopped, Spike.”

He mouthed, “ … shut up … ” what came out was more like a moan.

Jet tromped back through and tossed a small bottle at Faye. She caught the aspirin in her hand as he barked, “That's the only bottle he's getting anything from! We have a few days until we catch up to Io. In the meantime,” he leaned down into Spike's face, “get your shit together.” With that he went back toward the bridge.

Faye set the bottle aside, settling the rather greenish-hued Spike onto the couch. “I'll be right back.” True to her word she returned with a glass of water and an ice pack. Pulling out a couple of the pills she handed them to Spike. “Can you keep these down?”

“I think so.” He slurred and fumbled with them.

Faye held the glass to his lips. “I hope you can. You know … he's really mad at you.” Settling him down on his left side, she picked up the ice pack and placed it on the right side. “You've done a number. The headache from this is still nagging you, now you had to add a hangover? That wasn't one of your better moves.”

He didn't reply, his eyes opened and closed slowly in clear misery. Jet had certainly jump started that process.

“Oh Spike.” She rubbed his back trying to fathom the rate at which he'd downed the mixture of alcohol. “You really don't know when to stop do you?”

* * *

Up on the bridge Jet stood by the windows watching the stars drift by. Every beat of his heart echoed in his ears. His chest tightened as he thought about what he had just found … what he had done. Faye was right … Spike had borne the brunt of the hell in that prison. And it wasn't like Jet didn't know his habits. This wasn't unusual … he paused the runaway train of thoughts. Yes, there was something unusual about it. The degree.

Had it really been two days of drinking? He shut eyes remembering only now the span of time between Faye lingering over his shoulder trying to get his attention. Shit … he'd missed it. Was the binge drinking a result of the blow?

No, it shouldn't have been. The scan was clear. Granted, what he had on the ship was more for field care. It wasn't major medical grade. Maybe there was something … or maybe Spike just needed a heavier hit … he cringed at his mind's choice of terms. Spike had taken enough blows and clearly had a need to drown something.

He'd seen a darker side of Spike, an unsettling version of him caged inside those bars. Could he leave that behind? Was that why he'd drained so many bottles … to forget, to bury it again?

Jet stared toward the living room. The real question … Did he _truly_ know Spike?

* * *

Opening his eyes, Spike heaved a sigh. He had no idea how much time had passed. But the volume of the pills in the bottle had significantly declined leading him to suspect it had been a while. Tugging off the ice pack, truly more of a luke warm pack now, from his aching head he pried himself from the couch.

Voices up on the bridge drew him. By now the worst of the hangover had run its course while he'd half slept it off. Looking down to make sure of his footing up the steps he noticed his shirt was only half tucked in and wrinkled as all hell. Still, he caught the scent of cigarette smoke, and heard the others talking and laughing about something. Even if he still felt like shit, he remembered Jet's irate words. They had to get that plan figured out. Where were they going? Had he said? Spike didn't think he had said it, but didn't trust he'd remember if he had.

At the top of the stairs he paused in the shadows. Jet reclined in the cockpit with Ed and Faye leaning on the rail, their backs to Spike. Faye stared at a photo in his hands. “No kidding, that's your folks?”

From here Spike could see the couple standing on the deck of the ship holding deep sea fishing rods, a rather young Jet, probably close to ten years old, standing between them holding up a small fish.

Jet laughed. “Sure is. And see, that's the deck of the  _Bebop,_ there's the bridge. I told Spike about this one night in our cell. Not sure he believed me. But this old boat was once my father's.”

Faye grinned. “Awww, back when you had hair.”

Jet turned beet red. “I uhhh … ” His hand brushed his bare head.

“Seriously Jet, you should hang that picture up. It's sweet.”

Tossing her hands in the air, Ed grinned. “Ed should find her parents.”

They both looked at her as she spun on her toes. “How?”

“Ed knows her dad's name now. I can find mom too. At least pictures.”

“You remember your mother?” Faye cocked her head.

“Of course.”

Spike closed his eyes, ducking deeper into the shadows as his throat threatened to close off. This shouldn't be bothering him. People had parents even if he couldn't recall his own … but … even Ed remembered hers. Fuck, he was already dealing with so much, he didn't need to be pestered by this in his waking hours. Turning as silently as possible, Spike fumbled his way down to the isolation of the workshop.

What he needed now was a distraction. Something to keep his fingers and mind busy. He started to take the Jericho apart for a good cleaning knowing it would be needed. Barely into it, footsteps echoed from the hall. Faye lingered in the doorway. “Spike? I … I thought I saw you on the bridge. Why didn't you come join us? Jet wanted to show you something.”

He kept his eyes locked on disassembling the gun.

Her steps carried her closer. “Spike?”

He slammed a part down harder than he intended.  _Easy, calm down. Don't let it show._ “Leave me alone.”

At his side she reached out halfway toward his shoulder before withdrawing the hand finding a place across her chest, gripping her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

He tried to keep his tone deadpan, but the tension crept in. “I'm getting really sick of that question.”

The silence stretched on as he finished pulling the gun apart and laying it out on the desk.

Faye drew in a slow breath. “Then don't make us wonder if … ”

He struck the desk with his fist and snapped, “Look! I'm doing what Jet told me to do, getting my shit together. Now, leave me the fuck alone!”

She took a few steps. “I'll … I'm here if you need to talk.”

He huffed a breath, ramming the cleaning cloth down the barrel, muttering, “I don't need anyone.”


	31. Session 31

_ **Session 31** _

The _Redtail_ cut a low pass over the Office of Records, Faye narrowed her eyes at the layout. Low, not many windows, warehouse looking. No, not warehouse, more like an above ground bunker out in the boonies far from the city. Certainly didn't seem too occupied. In the corner of her eyes she caught the black bars marring her skin. There had been some debate over covering them, but in the end it seemed too remote to matter.

Glancing at the radar she spied the blip following her. The _Swordfish_ eased along, riding her wake after the rough morning. She sighed, wondering if she should say something. During the entire planning phase on the bridge Spike hadn't said a single word. That had been the reason Jet had waited hoping to cash in on Spike's infiltration skills.

That had been a total bust.

“ _Alright, you should be over the area.”_ Jet came over the com. _“I'm gonna stay in the high orbit. Does the layout match what Ed found?”_

Faye waited a moment hoping to hear a reply, after all this is rather Spike's area of expertise. When that failed to happen she answered, “Not in the least. So … shit … there goes the plan.”

For a second she thought she heard a breath, almost a single laugh, break the com. Spike?

“ _How bad we talking?”_

“Uhhh, well, now we have no idea where to look inside.”

“ _Bait and switch.”_ Spike's voice cut through. _“Yeah, this is the joint. Someone switched the plans on the net, made it look like a traditional office building. So much for your basement theory.”_

“ _It was logical at the time.”_

“ _That was a lot of wasted time spent for nothing.”_

A loud thud made her jump. She suspected Jet's hand striking the console. _“You have a lot of nerve talking about wasting time! I told you I wanted to see you before you took off. You better not have … ”_

“ _Tch! I'm sober, damn it. Now lay off!”_

“ _You've been avoiding me on purpose.”_

“ _Wonder why.”_

“Guys, we need a new plan.”

The _Swordfish_ shot past her. _“I know what_ _ **I'm**_ _doing. See you inside.”_

Faye gripped the controls harder. “Spike! You saw something, didn't you! Clue me in.” Now trapped in the wake of the faster monoracer, she followed the wide circle he cut coming in low a fair distance from the building. Faye landed beside the _Swordfish_. Leaping out of the cockpit she stalked toward him as he tossed his flight gloves aside and jumped down. Jabbing him in the chest with her finger she snapped, “Listen buster, I asked you a damn question and I want an answer!”

He rolled his eyes. “Ever heard of radio silence? Do we know if they can hack our feed? We could have been talking about anything.”

She blinked.

“You got a burning need to know what I'm planning? Look.”

Faye followed where he pointed. A rusty metal door set into the rear wall. Fair sized weeds grew in the cracks of the concrete. “That doesn't look like anyone has been through it in ages.”

Checking his gun, Spike tucked it back away and strode toward the building. “That's the point. No windows, no one is watching this side of the building.”

She sighed and hastened to follow. “You could have just said that, you know.” The wind blew across her skin springing goosebumps. The dry desert air was warm, but still, she hadn't felt weather in some time. Nice for a change to feel something that wasn't so artificial.

Approaching the door, Faye cocked her head. She kept her voice down, “The lock on that door is rusted. What are you going to do, shoot it?”

He snorted a laugh, his fingers brushing the bruise over his right eye. “Not hardly.” Instead, he pulled out a screwdriver and crouched down. Placing it at the bottom of the lowest hinge, he used the heel of his hand to work the pin up and out of its seating. “So nice of the original constructors to hang the door this way.” Within the next minute he'd popped the other two pins, dropping them. It wasn't quite that simple. The rust permeated deep into the seams. Spike threw his back into it as the door reluctantly came free. Shoving it to the side, he peered into the darkened hall both directions before walking in.

Faye rolled her eyes and pulled out her gun. Now was not the time for chit chat. Inside the one story bunker-like building there were no lights in the rear hall. Through the cast of sunlight she could see a thick coat of dust on the floor, undisturbed. No one had been back this far.

Spike led the way, ghosting past the closed doors. The only disruption on the floor was their own footprints. Only faint outlines caught Faye's eyes. Damn, she wished she could see better in lower light. Still, he moved without hesitation broadcasting no need for extreme caution.

In the distance a faint light cast outlines of the doors. Spike slowed. In the light there was no denying the brighter shine of disturbed dust on the floor. There had been activity. Coming to the T in the hall there were fresh tracks both ways.

Spike turned purposefully toward the right. His hand shifted behind his back pointing down the other hall.

_Nice of him to ask. Fine. I guess it makes sense to split up._ Gripping her gun, she tiptoed beneath the inadequate yellow lights. There was power here, but it was clearly designed to be minimum draw. Regular foot traffic led in a determined pathway toward one door. Well, that was certainly no mystery. Clearly they hadn't expected anyone to drop in.

A voice carried through the door. “For the last time, the boss said no.”

“But I need to see her!” Faye knew that voice, Daniel Adenine. The poor guy sounded desperate.

“No one goes through this door without his say-so.”

Faye gripped her gun and cocked a grin. With a solid kick she obliterated the old wooden door's latch. The door slammed against the wall as she stared down the sight of her gun. “Oh yeah?”

Two thugs in suits shot up in surprise. “What the … ?”

“Hi boys.” Faye strode right into the room. “I've come to see the doctor.”

* * *

Spike followed the disrupted dust on the floor. There were several rooms that had been in use. The lights were off, doors left open. Those didn't interest him. A voice further down the corridor beckoned him. With the amount of tracks here it didn't seem like there were many involved. Four to six people are the most. One of these sets should be Daniel Adenine's. The dull ache in Spike's head warned him. This wasn't a hangover, that part was well gone. Now he just seriously craved a nip of something. Not that he'd dared to do that. Jet had been eyeballing the stash. Of course Spike had avoided crossing paths with him, that left him parched and rather irritable.

He reached back and grabbed his gun. Hand to hand wasn't a strong point at the moment, not with residual ache from Jet's punch. That was better, but one didn't just snap their fingers and recover from getting clocked like that. The door was open a crack as he hugged the wall, listening. A man laughed. “Try that again and I'll break your ankles. You don't need to be able to walk to be valuable to me.”

Tensing, Spike knew that voice. Well now, this just got more interesting. Ramming his shoulder against the door he burst into the room and trained the gun sight where the voice had come from.

Gunter Keller spun around, his eyes shot wide. The color drained from his face as he staggered backward. “Oh shit! You … you're supposed to be … he promised me you'd stay in prison!”

Spike glared hard at him. “That explains the info about us. I'm assuming it was you who set the bounties.”

Finding himself cornered, Gunter held his hands up, sweat pouring down his face. “It wasn't personal … look, I had to do it, I was forced. I warned him not to screw with you guys! But he said … he said he didn't want any trouble from some cut-rate bounty hunters who shouldn't have caught wind of the plan.”

Spike spared a quick glance to the woman bound to a chair in the corner, gagged. Ellen … Daniel's wife.

Gunter continued as Spike stalked toward him. Back against the wall he panicked, made all the more worse when the gun pressed against his chest. His eyes kept flicking to the shiner.

“He who?” Spike's voice was ice cold.

“I didn't know at first. I swear! I had no idea what I'd gotten into with this guy.” Gunter squirmed. “Please, you have to believe me! I warned him not to screw with you. Told him the plan would backfire.”

“I'm listening.” When Gunter stuttered, Spike drew the gun back and rammed it into his gut. “Fresh outta patience, so start giving me something I can use or else.”

He yelped, “Oh else what?”

Spike pressed the muzzle right between Gunter's eyes and twitched a finger on the trigger.

“GAH! Whitecoff! It's all Whitecoff's plan! The bounties, sending you all to Callus, kidnapping Adenine so he could make the virus do his work.”

“He's planning on taking Europa, farming it's resources for Io.”

Gunter twitched. “Yeah … how did you guess?”

“Where is he?”

“How should I know?”

Spike pushed the muzzle harder until he cried out. “Where is he, Gunter?”

“He left me here to keep the hostages.” Beads of sweat raced down his forehead. “Whitecoff went to Europa to assist them, humanitarian stuff! I swear.”

“Heh, you mean to pose as a humanitarian and negotiate the take over.”

He swallowed. “Shit … how did you … ?”

“Not everyone is as nearsighted as you are.”

Gunter gripped his hands together, and whined. “Please. Don't kill me. I swear I warned him this was a bad idea to mess with you. He insisted I file the bounties.”

Spike took in a slow breath and let it out. “You know your problem?”

“Uhhh … ” Gunter looked around despite the muzzle rammed against his forehead.

With a rapid pull, Spike fired. Gunter stiffened before his slack body slid down the wall leaving a smear of blood behind. Spike looked down at him, nudging his leg with foot. When he didn't move, Spike put the gun away. “You lacked conviction.”

He turned back to the woman in the chair, pulling out his knife.

She squirmed, screaming into the gag.

“Relax. It was Ellen, right?” Spike knelt down and started to cut the ropes. “Ellen Adenine?”

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him, flashing wide when she caught the prison bar tattoos on his arm and the side of his neck.

After the first rope snapped and fell away he went for the second. Had to give it to Gunter, he had secured her pretty well. She had a few bruises, but nothing too serious. “I doubt you remember me from the contest a while ago, on the cruise ship, the Golden Calf.” The next rope fell away and Spike went for the ones keeping her wrists bound to the arms. He flicked his gaze to meet her trembling eyes. “Spike Spiegel.”

Ellen's eyes widened. Her first hand freed, she tugged the gag off. “You … you … ”

He cut the final rope and flipped the knife away, standing and holding out a hand to help her up. “It's been a rough couple of weeks. Come on.”

“My husband. Ha … have to get him … ” She was a bit unsteady on her feet, retracting her hand from his and choosing the wall instead.

It didn't escape Spike that she was preoccupied with the tattoos, shaking in terror. He heaved a sigh, dropping his hand to his side and turning away. “Come on, follow me. We'll go find Daniel.”

* * *

The thugs stared at Faye, shock in their eyes. “Wait a second … you're not the bitch!”

Faye smirked. “Really? Don't tell me you kiss your mother with that mouth?” She spared a quick glance to Daniel Adenine, he sat on the floor with his hands bound behind his back, fear in his eyes.

The other thug reached for his gun. “Who are you?”

“Don't do it.”

He laughed. “What are you going to do? Shoot u—uuukkkk!” He didn't get to finish his sentence as Faye's shot caught him in the gut. Without the aid of adrenaline, he folded in half and face planted on the ground. He lay there whimpering.

The other thug's eyes widened. His hand twitched as he reached for his own gun.

Faye aborted his attempt with a shot to his hand.

He gripped the wound, screaming bloody murder.

Calmly, Faye sauntered past them and untied the bonds. Helping Dr. Daniel Adenine to his feet. “You alright?”

He brushed himself off. “Yeah, mostly … my wife! They have my wife!”

“Not anymore they don't.” Spike called from the hallway, he shifted aside and Ellen wandered around the door, the moment she saw Daniel she stumbled into the safety of his arms, sobbing. Spike shifted his glance to Faye, she realized she was staring at him. Blood spattered on his right arm … his typical grip. He formed a fist. “You remember that asshole, Gunter Keller?”

Faye nodded for a moment. Then the implications of the blood struck her.

“Learned who outed us. As well as who hired him.” Spike's hard gaze turned to the two thugs downed by Faye's shots but clearly still breathing since they were crying. “We have a confirmation on Whitecoff.”

“Shit. A government official? This … this just got messy.”

He lifted his left eyebrow. “Just? That's an understatement. He's on his way to Europa on a _humanitarian_ mission.”

Daniel stiffened, looking over his wife's head. “No! This is terrible. We have to get there. He's already started unleashing the weaponized virus.”

“Is your research here?” Faye looked around the messy room.

Daniel pointed toward a locker near Spike.

He reached back and tried to open it. It wouldn't. Giving the dial a turn, he shook his head. “Fuck it.” Yanking out his gun he fired a point blank shot at an angle through the mechanism. The door sprang open. Grabbing the computer case he pressed into Daniel's hands. “Let's get going.”

Seeing that Ellen was having issues standing, Faye moved to help her. The moment Ellen's eyes saw the marks on Faye's arm she jerked back, crumbling into Daniel's arms.

Spike grunted. “She better get over it.” Daniel glanced up and caught a glimpse of Spike's shiner for the first time, his breath caught in his chest. Spike half closed his eyes and shook his head, pointing out the door. “We only got two rides off this rock. One of you will have to hitch in each one.”

Daniel hugged her close. “It's ok. Don't you remember them? The couple from the ship, the ones who saved us from the hijackers. We're ok now.” He helped her out of the room.

Faye followed exiting the door and pointing down the dark hallway. “Turn right at the hall—”

Two rapid shots rang out behind her. Faye spun around to dart back in the room when Spike pushed his way past, putting his gun away. He stalked off without a word, passing Daniel and his wife.

Faye stared from the doorway. Both thugs lay in growing pools of blood. Single shots … to the neck.


	32. Session 32

_ **Session 32** _

The door to the hanger rolled back the moment the monocrafts touched down and the external airlock closed. Jet rushed through, summoned by Faye's call on the way back. The _Swordfish's_ cockpit opened and Spike helped Dr. Adenine out from the rear of the cramped pod, computer case in hand. The second the man was steady on the deck, Spike strode away past Jet without a word.

“Hey Spike, Faye said you ran into … Spike!” It was too late, he'd exited the door. “Shit!” He didn't have time for his attitude now.

Rushing to the _Redtail_ , he reached it in time to help Faye with Ellen. He cradled her in his arms, the poor woman had passed out. Faye held up a hand to the frantic Daniel. “She's alright. I think this whole ordeal was a bit much for her, is all. You've been through a lot too. Jet's got her. She'll be alright.”

They made their way into the ship to the living room. Laying Ellen out on the couch, Jet checked her over while Daniel sat leaning forward on edge of the other seat. When Faye brought him a drink he thanked her profusely while watching his wife, worry etched into his face.

Jet released a long breath. “She'll be ok. Seems like she's worn out is all.”

“Oh thank heavens!” Daniel collapsed back into the chair. “I don't even know how long those thugs held us. They kept us separated most of the time. I was so worried about her. She's not used to this much stress.”

Faye rested a hand on his shoulder. “You're both safe now. We'll get you back to Europa.”

Jet rose to his feet, offering a stern glare. “And find some way to expose Whitecoff. I'll be right back, just going to get us en route.” Climbing the steps to the bridge, he paused.

Spike sat near the top, a cigarette held loose in his grip … his right hand rested over the prison bar tattoo. He wasn't looking at Jet, his cold-fire gaze was at Ellen sleeping on the couch. “I'm out.”

Those two words felt like Spike had returned the blow to Jet, made worse by the fact the evidence still colored the right side of Spike's face. Jet took a hasty step down. “You can't … Spike! You can't mean that!”

His foul expression tensed. “Keep your voice down, you might wake the broad.”

Faye glanced up at them, biting her lower lip.

“What's gotten into you?” Jet barely managed to rein his voice in.

“A reality check.” Spike slowly rose to his feet. A couple stairs above Jet he scowled down at him, his fingers still gripping the marks marring the skin of his arm. “We're not heroes.”

That tone, stone cold serious. It sent a shiver down his spine, but he couldn't find his voice.

“I'm done going the extra damn mile only to be treated like shit afterward.”

Jet threw his hand in the air. “There's a whole world at stake here and we're the only ones who have the chance to make it right.”

“Sure, bring the good doctor back.” Spike huffed. “Blink and Whitecoff will just intervene again. How are you gonna take down a government official, Jet?”

Jet thrust a finger into Spike's chest, barely moving him. “That's why we need you.”

Batting the hand away, Spike growled. “Yeah, we succeed in bagging the greedy bastard and guess what waits for us? Another Alba city! You gonna take the blame again? Roll over and foot the bill? We saved them from the government's cover up and they slapped us in the face for it, all but blaming us for the damage to the city.”

“Spike li—”

“No Jet. I'm done. If they're only gonna see me for one thing no matter what I do, what the hell is the point anymore?” His eyes stared hard at Ellen, the grip over the prison tattoo white-knuckled.

“Please, just hold on a second.”

Spike stepped down, only one stair higher as he leaned into it, glaring at Jet. “You're playing with one helluva fire if you go after Whitecoff. You're going to get incinerated for nothing.”

“What are we supposed to do?” Jet gritted his teeth. “Leave Europa to its grim fate?”

“I don't care what you do.” He shoved past him, dropping down the stairs. “Just leave me the hell out of it.”

Jet stood on the stairwell, listening as Spike's steps carried him all the way down to the crew quarters, followed by an unusual slamming of his door. Spike rarely went to his own room. After being confined for so long to such a small cell it seemed an odd place choice for him … unless he'd simply gotten used to it. Striking the railing with his left fist, the metal rang. “Shit! He had to pull this now?”

There was no time to waste. He stomped up to the bridge and programmed the non-hypergate trip to Europa's orbit. His head hung. Days. The time was costly, but they couldn't risk getting caught by the gate scanners. Wandering down to the living room, Jet sat on the bottom of the stairs.

Faye leaned on the railing, her gaze vaguely in the direction of the crew quarters.

“Stop worrying, Faye. He'll come out when we eat. You know him. He just needs a bit of time. We can talk then.”

Her fingers idly stroked the lines of her own tattoo. “I'm not so sure it will be that simple this time, Jet. He seemed adamant.”

He folded his arms over his chest. His mind scrambled for a reply, some denial. But deep down Jet had seen it in his eyes. Spike hadn't been bluffing. That hadn't been fear down there, he was just … done.

Staring at the marks on his skin it struck him too, just how screwed they truly were. They couldn't waste the time to find a surgeon for the procedure to get them removed. But walking around with these broadcast to everyone where they belonged. That had been the expression in Spike's eyes … anger.

He whispered to himself, “A reality check, indeed.”

* * *

Dinner and breakfast came and went, without Spike showing up. Faye manufactured excuses to pass by his room. More or less, he kept inside it, save for critical trips to the bathroom. She only caught him ghosting back inside, the door to his quarters shut before she had a chance to say anything.

“Damn it. What are you thinking, you stubborn moron?”

* * *

Spike lay on his bunk. He'd hastily shoved the accumulated crap of what was more or less his weapons locker onto the floor. Between Faye's regular patrols he snuck a trip to the kitchen and scrounged up a quick bite to eat, erasing all evidence. He didn't have access to the couch. _That judgmental little—argh does!_ Ellen's eyes had verified it. Shoved it home deep into his chest. There was no escaping the facts.

This … this is how he would be seen. Every truly despicable mark he had been responsible for locking away—every time he had been part of the solution intervening in a serious disaster—every situation where he had laid his life on the line—didn't matter one fucking bit. The shallow world would see one thing and one thing only. The man he had once been—that shadow, he'd been a fool to think he could ever escape it.

A cloying scent teased him as he rolled over. He opened his eyes to find the cologne bottle. Sitting up he grabbed it and turned it around in his hands. _Autumn Rain_. His father's scent in the dream. It churned his stomach a bit. Faceless images drifted back to Spike, not just of his father but of his mother … both of them lingering half formed, half remembered. Concentrating so hard beads of sweat formed, he struggled to summon their faces. There had been a time he had known them. There had to be a way to recall that.

The effort only annoyed his perpetual headache. At least it was low grade now. But still … since Jet was being a jerk about alcohol … his hand pumped into a fist. He really needed a drink. The urge had grown to a burning need.

Getting up he listened at the door. No sounds of her breathing. Carefully opening the door, he peered both ways down the hall. The ship lights were dim. Time frames were artificial on the ship, but there still was more or less day and night.

Good, everyone would be sleeping. Soundlessly he ghosted through the corridors toward the liquor cache Jet had kept secure in the living room. The Adenine's both slept soundly on the furniture in makeshift arrangements. No one was the wiser as he reached into the cache and grabbed a beer.

The bridge seemed to be the best place to savor his stolen vice. So he wandered up the steps and sat down in front of the cockpit, stretching out his legs. The stars drifted by, slower than a hypergate trip. Sucking down a mouthful of the beer he was glad Jet had thought of that much. Getting picked up with these markings … hell, by now they would have found Callus. Discovered them missing. They would be fugitives to a serious degree. There probably was a real sizable bounty on their heads now. He eyed his tattoo and sighed. There were no trials for fugitives, just a fast-track sentence. It would be a one way trip to Pluto.

Resting his head back against the cockpit, he accidentally knocked a photo down landing in his lap. It was the youthful version of Jet and his grinning parents standing on the deck of the floating _Bebop_. They all looked so damn happy … complete. Spike scowled and tossed it aside. That was the last thing he needed to see right now.

He let his thoughts drift, traveling in the star field. Each and every one on this ship, they were nothing but insignificant specks drifting by … no one would care if they got their asses snuffed out. Unless they took out something in the process, no one would even know.

His eyes drifted shut.

Hours later, Spike's eyes cracked opened. The empty bottle tipped over by his outstretched leg, the lights were brighter, voices drifted up from the living room … and music? Ed was singing along with obnoxiously wrong lyrics. He assumed she must be on some streaming station. Everyone was up, talking idly.

Daniel asked, “Do you have a plan yet? If I go back to the lab right now there is no way to protect me. Whitecoff will deny everything. He got me before, he'll do it again. His plan will go forward.”

Jet's voice rumbled, “This is a delicate situation. I'm not sure how we can even begin to accuse a moon's president and be taken seriously. If we screw this up there is no going back. There has to be some way, but we're up against impossible odds. Which means we need the one guy I know who can rig the odds.”

Faye wearily answered, “The same guy who checked out. Picked a helluva time.”

“Have you talked to him?”

“Nope. He's still in his room. Not answering his door.”

Spike rolled his eyes. _Not very observant._

Faye's voice echoed up the stairwell. “Jet, face facts. It's gonna take a miracle to change his mind.”

_Nothing is going to change my mind._ He shut his eyes.

An announcer broke in after the music stopped.  _“Next up we have something special. A real blast from the past coming to you from Mars … or rather the Voices of Mars, a loose group of like-minded musicians who came together in Mar's fiftieth year of being settled. Standing up against the terrible injustices of that era concerning the Earth immigration crisis, they brought forth the Miraculous Seven Minutes in a song called **Mother**.”_

The moment the simple piano chords began. Spike's eyes opened, his heartbeat syncing with the rhythm. His eyes stared ahead into seemingly nothing. No one who lived on Mars escaped the relevance of this piece. It was part of their indelible history, broadcast with a regularity that he had memorized the lyrics as a child in Joe's Pool Hall.

“ _Sometimes we are all afraid to fly_

_Freedom is a rocket in the sky_

_Take a leap of faith_

_Cause there's no reason not to try_

_Let the stars be your guide_

_Let the love be your life”_

Spike's eyes shut tight. He couldn't help it, the lyrics … there was something about the power of those lyrics. No stopping it, his voice joined theirs.

“ _Take your soul_

_And let it shine_

_Across the universe_

_Let the stars align_

_When you're almost out of fight_

_Let your fire burn_

_Let your voice be heard_

_Singing”_

Rising to his feet he, approached the windowpane separating him the star field. The reflection of his tattoos stabbed him the gut. He gripped his arm, his hand not large enough to cover the damn things that would hold him apart from the rest of humanity. A reminder of what he was, a wretched criminal. An animal who deserved a cage. All those years ago … was this what they had imagined when they'd looked into their little boy's eyes? A cold blooded killer? This wasn't what he'd wanted.

“ _Mother, Mother, Mother_

_Won't you free me from my chains?_

_Mother, Mother, Mother_

_Won't you come show me the way?_

_Mother, Mother, Mother_

_Won't you free me from my chains?_

_Mother, Mother, Mother_

_Won't you come show me the way?_

_Mother, Mother, Mother_

_Won't you come show me the way?”_

Approaching his reflection he couldn't help but swallow at the sight. Haggard, bruised, hunched. He could hardly recognize himself as he placed his hand against the glass, a confirmation it was truly him. When had he become so damn hollow?

“ _It's easier to run than stand and fight_

_Freedom is the strength to make you right_

_Hope is all we have_

_But it's all worth the sacrifice_

_A million voices are strong_

_But together we are one”_

He blinked and staggered back. Like shattered glass, the faceless images of his recent obsessive dreams spread out on the bridge's observation windows. As he continued to sing the lyrics, his throat tightened. He wandered along the images, pulled by their power. Trying to fly from the roof, stargazing, time spent together at the fair … What had they imagined for him? What would have been … had it been allowed to be … he felt so damn alone. A tear trembled in his eye.

“ _Take your soul_

_And let it shine_

_Across the universe_

_Let the stars align_

_When you're almost of fight_

_Let your fire burn_

_Let your voice be heard_

_Singing”_

Somehow he had survived the odds. Somehow he had found the strength to persevere through everything that life had thrown at him. Somehow … he couldn't find it in him now. The weight dragged him down. He placed a hand on the glass, the images gone now as he pleaded into the darkness.

“ _Mother, Mother, Mother_

_Won't you free me from my chains?_

_Mother, Mother, Mother_

_Won't you come show me the way?_

_Mother, Mother, Mother_

_Won't you free me from my chains?_

_Mother, Mother, Mother_

_Won't you come show me the way?_

_Mother, Mother, Mother_

_Won't you come show me the way?”_

In the reflection, his parents reached out, their hands pressed to his. Behind him Jet, Faye, Ed holding Ein, looked out at him, concern in their gazes.

“ _Together we can change the world_

_Together we're the missing piece_

_Mother, come and heal this Earth_

_Mother, you're the love we need.”_

That was it … the terrible void inside him welled up. The source he had lost. They would never turn on him. They knew what he had been through to become who he was now. They saw the truth even if the rest of the world saw only what they wanted to see. He rose to his feet, standing tall with … his chosen family.

“ _Take your soul_

_And let it shine_

_Across the universe_

_Let the stars align_

_When you're almost out of fight_

_Let your fire burn_

_Let your voice be heard_

_Singing, oh-oh”_

Only then did he realize, turning around and looking over his shoulder. He wasn't alone. They were actually standing behind him on the _Bebop's_ bridge. The embarrassment lasted only briefly, he continued to sing looking each of them in the eyes and earning a smile.

“ _Mother, Mother, Mother_

_Won't you free me from my chains?_

_Mother, Mother, Mother_

_Won't you come show me the way?_

_Mother, Mother, Mother_

_Won't you free me from my chains?_

_Mother, Mother, Mother_

_Won't you come show me the way?_

_Mother, Mother, Mother_

_Won't you come show me the way?”_

Bowing his head. he rubbed his neck. “I've been a pain in the ass lately guys. I … I'm sorry.”

Faye slowly embraced him. “It's good to have you back, Spike. I knew there wasn't a chance in hell you would let Whitecoff get away with this once you came to your senses.”

He shrugged, gesturing down the stairs to the source of the music. “If two young girls found the courage to start a damn revolution when the fates of two planets were at stake, who the hell am I to back down from the fate of one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Mother" is from the anime series "Carole and Tuesday" which is part of the Bebop universe set early in the colonization. The song was the finale of this powerful work, a project driven by two very ambitious girls who represented embracing change, acceptance, compassion. It's set in Alba city. If you have not seen it, I highly recommend it. Nailing down a specific year passage between the two is difficult--Bebop's is relative to Earth time 2071, Carole and Tuesday is set to the years of Mar's colonization--year 50. At the time, Mars was breaking away from Earth's control over it, meaning Earth may have been unstable, but not a total wreck yet. This seems to be prior to the moon hypergate collapse.


	33. Session 33

_ **Session 33** _

Jet stared through the rising smoke from his cigarette at Spike who had reclaimed his couch when Ellen abandoned it. “Back it up, pard. Are you seriously suggesting the government operates like a syndicate?”

Reclined with his legs crossed on the table, Spike took a long drag off his own cigarette. “I'm saying the government _is_ a syndicate. At the very least it's been highly infiltrated. Every damn branch of it straight to the truck.”

Sitting on the platform to the main door, Faye hugged one leg to her chest listening intently. Ed and Ein were spread on the floor playing some computer game. Daniel sat in the chair reviewing his research trying unsuccessfully to figure out a way to start making batches of the vaccine with what Jet had on hand. Meanwhile Ellen took a shower.

Jet opened his mouth to interrupt Spike, but he raised a hand. “You have no idea how many officials Mao Yenrai sat down to dinner with on a regular basis.”

“How do you know?”

Spike scoffed. “You have to ask? Because I was one of his most frequently chosen body guards. I wasn't supposed to listen, but I had nothing better to do. They spanned every branch from judges to police chiefs all the way up to governors, so a president is hardly out of the question. I was right there standing over his shoulder. If they weren't straight up ranked syndicate members, they were allied or secretly turned through extortion. There were whole branches dedicated to concealing involvement. Hell, Julia's uncle was a lawyer, and he's the reason I never got collared.”

Jet palmed his face. “Shit. That means … ”

“Exactly what you think, there is no reason our sentencing wasn't part of a larger plot.”

Looking up from his computer screen, Daniel looked a bit flush. “Uhhh, excuse me for asking this … but how does he know so much about crime syndicates?”

Looking through his fingers, Jet answered, “Yenrai was a syndicate capo. Spike used to be a Red Dragon.”

The color drained all the way from Daniel's face to the point where he wobbled.

Flicking the ashes from his cigarette, Spike locked half lidded eyes with him. “Key words being 'used to'. I'm decidedly retired from that outfit.”

That only seemed to mildly settle Daniel, he squirmed a bit in his seat.

“But,” Jet waved a hand, “that does give us an advantage. If he's right, we'll know how they'll be approaching this.”

Faye scratched her head. “So you think this is linked to your days in the syndicate?”

Spike leaned his head back. “That it's personal? No. Those days are thoroughly burned history. There's nothing to gain from going after me now. What we know is that someone connected with the Bruusikhov's on that cruise ship knew we stumbled on the Europa pox vaccine formula and fed that intel up the chain. That someone was Gunter Keller, and he has clear syndicate connections who used him to rig the bounties that landed us out of their way. Dr. Adenine himself had clearly became the target after their initial effort failed. They knew the moment he vanished, we'd leap to the conclusion. They had to scramble for a plan B and make sure we wouldn't be around to figure out the greater scheme. What would be more horrendous than the president of Io weaponizing a virus so he can take over another colony to produce something his can't?”

“Why not make a deal with Europa?”

Spike heaved a sigh. He leaned forward and stubbed out the spent cigarette. “It's how a syndicate works, Faye. Cooperation is costly. Why barter a deal when you can just cripple the man who has what you want and steal it from him while he's sobbing on the floor.”

“That seems a little too detailed a scenario.” She eyed him.

Spike shrugged, lighting another cigarette. That cold-fire burned in his eyes again. “Call it first hand experiences, on the delivery end. Everything about this smacks of a by-the-book operation, right down to sacrificial pawns. We know Whitecoff is behind this.”

“The hard part is getting him exposed.” Jet pointed to Daniel. “We have no tangible proof and his testimony won't be enough. Not when we're talking about a president.”

“There's proof.” Spike reclined again, leaning his head back he closed his eyes. “But there's no way it's where Ed can get at it.”

She tugged her goggles down and looked at them. “Nyuh?”

From out of nowhere, a red poker chip appeared in Spike's fingers. He flicked the chip absently with his thumb and caught it. As if noticing the object for the first time, he eyed it sideways where it landed in position to be flicked again, blank side up. “We're gonna have to do this the old fashioned way.”

Jet and Faye exchanged worried glances. “Uhhh, pard? Just what do you mean by that?”

“First thing we need to know is where Whitecoff is pulling his charade. Then … leave it me. I'll get you your proof.”

Jet rumbles, “If that's how you want it now. Hope if we can prove this whole thing it'll change our conviction status.”

Spike cracked an eye open and sourly remarked, “Still have that much faith in the system?”

“I'll put a wager on it.”

“You're on.”

Faye snapped upright and pointed. “Hey, I thought betting wasn't allowed anymore! Why is it alright for you guys, but not for me?

Jet smirked. “Because neither one of us have lost our shirts.”

“Actually pard,” Spike cocked an eyebrow, “that goes for only one of us.”

“Uuuuhhh ugh!” Jet buried his face in his hands.

* * *

“Ed found the government sleaze!” She tugged down her goggles and pointed to the screen.

Laying on the couch, Spike cracked open one eye as everyone else, except Jet who was up on the bridge, seemed to lean in the way. Well, every one but Ellen, she sat as far away as she could, huddled in Daniel's suit jacket stealing glances at the crew that did nothing to conceal her fear of them. She probably thought Spike had been sound asleep on the couch when she'd whispered to Daniel her concern that they were being held hostage yet again—but by a more dangerous group this time. Daniel's reassurance seemed to do little good. Some people were awfully stubborn.

Faye murmured, “Looks like he's staying at Sapphire Bay Executive Suites. Way to go Ed! She even got the room number.”

“Penthouse.” Spike didn't even look.

“Alright … how did you know?”

“The guy's a president. Where else would he be?” He shut his eyes. “Security's gonna be tight. We're looking at restricted access to the elevator that leads there. Heavy guards, some obvious, others not. Probably a mix of hotel security and the official lot. He'll probably have a group of personal assistants and advisers.”

“That's a lot in the midst of a contagious epidemic.”

“Government officials always are exceptions to the rules. Logic or not.”

Faye rolled her eyes, cocking a hip. “Really. They make the rules and then chose to break them?”

“Always.”

“So … we gonna land our crafts in the penthouse?”

“You wanna get shot down in closed air space?” He chuckled, the back of his head cradled in his hands. “Not hardly. There are usually protocols to prevent that.”

“Spike, that's a lot of floors to get through and not get caught. We can't just walk up there.”

His eyes opened staring at the fan lazily turning. “Hey, you still got those fancy dresses from the contest?”

Hand on her hip, Faye smirked, “Me? Throw finely tailored outfits away? I'm not like you!”

Swinging up into a seated position, Spike rubbed his chin, quirking an eyebrow. “Do you think you could kick some ass in one?”

Faye lifted her chin. “Who do you think you're talking to, buster? Of course I can. But why does that matter? We can't exactly kill Whitecoff.”

“I'm not talking about him. It's to get through security. Well, for you at least.” He nodded his head. “Long gloves should cover that one, and I know you have a couple wide necklaces … if I remember correctly you have a stack of choker pearls or that wide gold collar, either should cover the neck one. No one will ever know.”

Faye narrowed her eyes. “You're going to have me play the femme fatale hand, aren't you.”

Spike cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, but you do it so well.”

“Asshole. And just what will you be up to?”

“Doing what I do best.” That cocky grin of his spread all the way to his eyes.

She grumbled, “Why does that worry me.”

“Hey, you and Jet are the ones who wanted me in on this. You get what you ask for. Everything will be fine so long as the good doctor is able to pull off his end in time.”

Daniel nodded. “Unfortunately I'll have no way of verifying it. But the bio-synthesizer Jet loaned me appears to be handling the formula. I'll only have enough for two, though.”

“Good.” Faye crossed her arms. “The last time we went after a nasty plague, despite us having the damn vaccine someone neglected to take it before rushing in.”

Spike rolled his eyes. Instead of replying, he turned and whistled into the recesses of the ship. “Yo, Shuĭ.”

The tink of metallic feet against the deck plates echoed before the small robotic compy dashed in front of Daniel. The compys had been scarce, keeping to the recesses of the ship. His first reaction to them was to yelp and jerk backward. Ellen scrambled up the stairs as though the thing had been a rat.

Shuĭ scaled Spike and perched on his left shoulder, his gears whirring in a sound reminiscent of a cat purr. “Come on, time to teach you a new trick.” Flicking his tail, Shuĭ peeped as he clung to his perch.

“Spike?” Jet's voice rumbled from the top of the stair case halting Spike in his tracks. “There are beers missing.”

“Yeah, so? I didn't take them.”

“Clever turn of phrase, but I'm not buying it. I'm on to you even if I haven't found the stash of empty bottles. Just because you had an accomplice to actually take them doesn't change the deed.”

Shuĭ wrapped around behind Spike's neck and hissed at Jet. Reaching up, Spike touched a finger to the compy's crest, calming him in a single stroke. But his eyes remained fixed on Jet. “Why do you keep going on about this? We met in a bar—drinking. It's not like this is a revelation.”

“It's changed.”

“I'm an adult. I can make my own decisions.”

Jet gripped the railing. “Not when it impacts the rest of us.”

He huffed a breath. “Spare me the lectures, we don't have time for this.”

“What we don't have time for—”

“I've got it under control! Now lay off me!” Spike's shout echoed through the ship. In the silence his harsh breathing was the only sound. He spun on his heel. “I'll be in the workshop if anyone gives a shit.”


	34. Session 34

_ **Session 34** _

Sapphire Bay Executive Suites could easily be likened to a resort unto itself. The sparkling skyscraper reached eighty floors in a private seaside cove with all the amenities a high status client could ask for, and more. These weren't the gimmicks of some indoor water park or amusement rides. This catered to elite clientele. Fine dining restaurants of all ethnic influence, spas specializing in every part of the body, entertainment stages featuring some of the grandest entertainment in the system.

_It's a shame,_ Faye thought as she adjusted her fur stole over the purple ombre slip dress that left nothing to the imagination including a window through the mid thigh slit up the side, _that I don't have more time to check out this joint._ Spike had been dead on right. The elbow length satin gloves and her gold high neck collar choker covered the tattoos masterfully. Bedecked and bearing herself like a starlit, Faye walked unchecked through the lobby.

A sign caught her attention, “Oh, a casino too, huh?”

A voice barked in her ear piece, _“Stay on point, Faye!”_

She pulled out her make-up mirror and checked her reflection, scoping the joint's main lobby as she did so. Keeping her voice down, she replied, “Relax, Jet. Just getting a feel for the layout. I see the private penthouse elevators and the security guards.”

“ _Good. Can you get up there?”_

She smiled devilishly, pursing her lips in a big show. “With or without an invitation?”

“ _Whichever is faster. Remember, I can't get down there to back you up. You two received the only doses of the vaccine Adenine had time to make. You have to make this work without backup. Ed can only do so much from up here in orbit.”_

“Why are you worried about me? You should be more concerned about that lunkhead. This is his plan and I haven't even seen a hair of him.”

“ _Go for the tall blond on the right.”_ Spike's voice startled her enough she almost dropped her mirror.

“Spike. Where the hell are you?”

“ _The fact that you haven't spotted me is the point. Now, get moving. We know he's up there at the moment. If he leaves and gets into the public eye it would make this ten times more difficult … and at risk for causing an interplanetary incident.”_

Jet sighed.  _“Which would be how things typically go.”_

“No pressure.” She shifted the mirror around the room frustrated that she didn't catch a glimpse of Spike anywhere among the dozens of people. He should stick out like a sore thumb among the finely attired clientele apparently living here because of the lock down. Spike didn't do high class well. He could, he just didn't. Back on the ship he'd insisted on his lousy leisure suit, bandages concealing the tattoos on his arm and neck. And of course the fading bruising on the side of this face made him look like he'd recently been bounced from a bar. Faye, on the other hand, looked like she belonged here. Like a celebrity she stalked toward the elevator. “Why the blond?”

“ _Because he's the one calling the shots. Manipulate the chain of command and this gets easier.”_

“One other little question, what if Whitecoff is married?”

There was the crackle of a short laugh over the ear pierce. _“Since when has that ever mattered?”_

She had to smile at that, the comment triggering a little more sass to her stride. “Fair point.”

Jet interrupted, _“Keep it subtle. No destroying things! And no damaging shit.”_

“ _Which is why Faye is going in first.”_

A gagging cough crackled over the link.

“ _Yes Jet, I did that on purpose. If it had been me … well, we all know what that looks like. Faye's distraction is essential to get me the window I need.”_

Taking out her special lipstick, Faye fixed her eyes on the blond guard in the sharp suit. “One distracted guard coming up.”

Her heels clacked as she crossed the floor in a slow cadence. She let the stole fall off her shoulder, the one closest to the target, revealing skin. Turning the knob at the bottom on her lipstick container until it clicked she flashed her eyes at the guard.

The moment her eyes contacted his she purposefully tripped and fell into his arms, waving the lipstick container below his nose as she tapped the hidden button at the bottom. A quick puff from the tiny pressurized canister delivered a partial payload. “Oh my gosh!” Faye gazed up at him watching as his pupils dilated. “They must have waxed the floors. Thank you for catching me. I don't know what I would have done without a big strong man like you.” Her gloved finger traced his jawline. “What should I call my savior?”

“Luke.” He swallowed, the gleam in his eyes setting deeper as the inhaled drug hit his senses. She didn't really need the sensual boost, but it had been so long since she had wrapped a man so completely around her finger. She couldn't resist the opportunity. Besides, they needed this plan to work.

Faye regained her feet and leaned closer to him, her lips brushing his neck beside his ear. “Luke. You are so incredible. I bet there isn't anything you can't do.” She could see him shivering.

The other guard, a thick necked man in a suit, raised an eyebrow. All it took was a wayward flick of the lipstick in her gloved hand beneath his nose and the second guard's eyes glazed over. Putty in her hands.

Luke wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. “I can show you the time of your life, doll.”

She flinched at the term, but let it slide for the sake of the act as the other guard leaned in closer, hunger in his eyes.

“ _Ed,”_ Spike broke through on the feed, _“be ready with that camera feed.”_

“ _Okie dokie! Ready to fire away!”_

Faye took a step away from the two men and ran a finger along each of the jawlines. “Mmm, I'm bored. You two know how to show a woman a good time?” She glanced at the elevator doors. “I've never been to a penthouse before.”

Luke pulled out a key card and flashed a lustful grin. “Full access, sweet heart. The view from up there is spectacular.”

She tugged on his lapels and nestled close to him. “Well, aren't you just full of surprises. I would so love to see the sights.” Her lips brushed his neck. 

He shuddered and swiped the card.

“ _Eyes on you, Faye.”_

She tugged the other guard toward her by grabbing on his tie. The moment the elevator doors opened she maneuvered both the lust-struck guards inside facing front, her skilled fingers running through their hair demanded their attention on her. They were practically drooling, swooning to her as she tangled their hair. The elevator door slid shut. 

Luke pressed the button and it shuddered to life. “Wait til we get up to the penthouse.”

Faye looked over her shoulder to the back of the elevator to find Spike smugly grinning at her, a duffle bag over his shoulder. When had he … it struck, the eyes on her. That slick bastard. He held a finger to his lips. She continued to play the enraptured men like a professional violinist. They never even glanced over their shoulders to spy Spike behind them watching every lame ass move for eighty floors.

“Luke, aren't there other guards up here?” Faye gave him a coy smile. “Don't you want to be … alone?”

He nodded vacantly and pressed his finger to a communicator. “Charlie, you and the boys, take five.”

“ _You sure, boss?”_

“Yeah … I'm sure. Out the back please.”

“ _Ohh, gotcha!”_

She wanted to punt his ass out the door. But unfortunately, they still needed him. At last reaching the top floor, the elevator stopped. The doors opened to a small corridor with a security panel.

Faye lead them out, pulling on their ties as though they were dog leashes. Luke flashed the key

card and pressed his thumbprint against the panel. The door lock popped open. “Now, the real fun starts.”

Faye fluttered her lashes, “You have no idea.”

In the next second, the thick-necked guard reached out as if to grab Faye, an arm gripped his throat from off to the side and slammed him into the ground. 

Faye nailed Luke in the groin and while he was bent double she brought her gloved fist into his chin. His jaw clacked together and he dropped down on top of his unconscious friend. Faye spread out her fingers and examined them through the glove, flexing them with a satisfied smile.

Spike stared down at the two and grinned, keeping his voice to a whisper. “Not very perceptive.”

She held up the lipstick case. “Thanks to a femme fatale's little helper. No man can resist it.”

He eyed her sideways. “Put. That. Away.”

“We can use it to get him to comply.” 

Spike shook his head, “Their pupils were dilated. Dead give away of influence. This has to play out just right, as genuine and not coerced.”

Pouting, she crossed her arms. “I love seeing men's brains dissolve into mush and settle where you all think from most of the time anyway.”

Rolling his eyes, he pointed into the door. “Go, you have a job to do.”

Faye fixed herself quickly before pushing open the door and sauntering in like she owned the penthouse suite. The place was gilded in precious metals. Damask curtains hung in the windows drawn back by gold woven cords letting the sun shine in over the richly adorned room. 

A man in a richly tailored suit looked up from the couch where he sat. Surprise painted on his features, but a smile slowly grew. “Well, what do we have here? You must be the special perk from the hotel?”

Faye let her leg show through the slit in her dress as she popped her hip up. The queen of sultry, she smiled. “Arranged just for you, Mr. President.”

Whitecoff adjusted his tie. “Well, well, well, don't mind if I do.”

Stalking around him, Faye captivated his attention, his head following her as she pet her fur stole. “Such a powerful man. What an honor it is to be here with you, an ambassador of peace.”

He laughed, a sound much more resembling a guffaw. His hand reached up to caress her as she leaned over him. “That's me the most celebrated of men. You're a very lucky woman to have the chance to entertain me. The savior of two colonies.”

“Oh,” Faye stroked his hair. “The pleasure is all ours.”

Belatedly, Whitecoff's smile faded. “Ours?”

The click of the safety being snicked off of a gun right beside his ear drew a bead of sweat from his forehead. Spike loomed off to his side as Faye stood up and backed away, pulling out her own gun. 

Shuĭ scampered out from the duffle bag and perched on the middle of the coffee table. A small camera mounted to his head. This startled Whitecoff the most, he held up his hands and shrieked for his guards, who didn't come.

“Smile for your adoring public, dickhead.” Spike leaned forward. “It's not live yet. But it's about to be. You have about three minutes to figure out what you're going to say.”

Whitecoff blinked. “About what?” He narrowed his eyes taking Spike in. “You!”

Spike nodded. “Trust a politician to screw up a conspiracy.”

“Conspiracy?” Whitecoff laughed. “There's no conspiracy.”

Pulling a capped off syringe out of his pocket, Spike put his gun away. “I have no need for that now when this will do one better. Luke called your security detail off for us. What a nice and cooperative sap he was.”

Whitecoff's eyes narrowed at the syringe. “What is that?”

“Oh, I think you know.” He shifted his fingers and uncovered the coding EPV-13. “I had Dr. Adenine mark it after he synthesized a batch special, just for you.”

“Adenine … but he's on … he's with … oh no!” Pressing himself into the couch, Whitecoff squirmed. “Get that away from me! Don't you know how dangerous that is?”

He tossed the syringe and caught it a couple times. “What? This? Dangerous? Why does that particular code make you nervous, I wonder?” Flicking off the cap, he held it right over Whitecoff's shoulder near his neck.

“Don't inject me! Please, I don't want to die!” He clasped his hands. “What do you want?”

Spike pointed at Shuĭ who chirruped and focused right on Whitecoff, head steady. “A full confession. Convincing, or you get the taste the spoils of your little war first hand. Miss a point on the checklist that we've already unburied, thanks to Gunter Keller … and well, you get it.”

He stammered. “But … I … I can't.”

The needle's tip inched closer. Spike barely blinked, waiting.

Whitecoff bowed his head for a moment. Then he looked straight into the camera.

“Remember, to be convincing, you rotten piece of shit. I can throw this thing like a dart.” Spike shifted back, out of line of the lens.

Swallowing deep, Whitecoff adjusted his tie. “Ladies and gentlemen … I had come to Io on the purpose of a humanitarian trip.”

Spike drew it back, closing one eye like lining up a shot.

Whitecoff stiffened and tried to subtly shift away. Unable to escape, his facade crumbled. “I have a confession to make. As President of Io I abused my position in office … ”

Faye and Spike shared a secretive smile as he spilled the whole plan out in a torrent. They knew through the earpiece Ed picked up the signal and relayed it straight to President Brookridge. No hiding from this now. Faye wished she could be a fly on Brookridge's wall. That must be one colorful president.


	35. Session 35

_ **Session 35** _

This had all gone better than expected, Faye tugged on her usual boots after changing and made her way toward the _Bebop's_ living room where Daniel and Ellen sat waiting for the all clear to return to his lab. That would be a bit yet, after an expected call from Europa's authorities.

Putting her earring in she flashed a smile at Daniel.

Jet paused halfway down the bridge's stairs, a look of alarm in his eyes as he saw Faye. “I thought you were securing Whitecoff.”

She stretched, grateful to be back in her regular clothing again. “In that dress? Be serious. Spike's handling it.”

Slapping a hand to his forehead, Jet's voice rose an octave. “You had Spike secure Whitecoff?”

Looking over her shoulder she waved a hand, “Yes. He's fine, you can stop worrying.”

“Faye!” He pointed deeper into the ship, yelling. “You left Spike alone with the man responsible for ensuring he got locked up under a sadistic warden who tortured him on a daily basis for over a month?”

That brought her up short. Her finger touched her chin as she stared at the ceiling. “When you put it that way, suddenly it doesn't seem like such a good idea.”

Darting down the rest of the stairs, Jet threw his hands in the air. “You know he got the worst of it and all because they considered him the biggest threat.”

“Which turned out to be true. It was Spike's plan. But still, Jet, you didn't see him in the room. He actually has it together.”

“That's a show and you bought the ticket! If he does to Whitecoff what the guy actually deserves we could all be in serious trouble. It's one thing for a president of a colony to bring another one up on war crime charges. It's treason for us to pound the shit out of the asshole.”

“I hope you told Spike that.”

* * *

“You're going to be in big trouble. I have diplomatic immunity. There isn't a bounty on me!” Back in one of the storage rooms, Whitecoff protested with as much bluster as he could with his wrists cuffed behind his back. A rope tied his chest to the chair he was sitting in, looped around so he was thoroughly trapped. Even his ankles were tied to the legs of the chair so he couldn't kick, in case that idea crossed his mind. Spike had been thorough, even though this guy was just a lousy politician and probably never threw anything more powerful than a scowl.

From behind, Spike leaned over Whitecoff's shoulder, his weight creaking the chair and startling Whitecoff enough he yelped. In an icy tone, Spike reassured him, “Just wait.”

“You … you can't do this. It's kidnapping.”

Circling him slowly, Spike pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “You actually have the gall to say that.”

“You're standing in the way of progress. I am looking out for my starving people. Serving the greater good.”

He pulled the syringe out of his pocket and set it on a crate, locking eyes with Whitecoff watching him squirm. “Funny how uncomfortable the **good** side gets when you're forced onto the other side of it, eh? Tell me … did Gunter Keller really warn you about me?”

Whitecoff's wide eyes darted around, sweat dripped down his face, though it was actually chilly in the cargo hold. “He … who? I can't remember.”

One finger traced the cylinder of the syringe.

“Gah! Don't do it! Yes! He did! Callus was supposed to hold you. He was the most suited. It was part of the deal, he was highly recommended to handle a bruiser like you! Both of them, they'll pay for their mistakes.”

Spike shook his head. Cold eyes locked on his captive. “They already did.”

Freezing stiff, Whitecoff's breath locked in his chest before he thrashed in the chair. “Somebody help me!”

Flexing his fist, Spike narrowed his eyes. “Even if I had cried out in that despicable hellhole you had us locked in, no one would have come. Those I allied with were prevented from helping by Callus's design. One was even forced to nearly kill me in a death match. But the truth is Callus was a failure from the start. He never learned from his mistakes. Never grew. Just remained a stunted little attention whore with a god complex. That was the man you hung your success on.” Spike leaned forward, his hands on the arm rests as he invaded Whitecoff's personal space forcing his head backward as far as it could go. “Against a man who single handedly annihilated one of the most violent syndicates in the history of the system all because he was having a bad day.”

Whitecoff only managed a gurgling sound.

A poker chip flipped into the air. The spin of red plastic, the shimmer of a gold foiled crown. “Dumbass move.”

* * *

On a mission Spike wandered through the living room ignoring the commotion. He pulled the fridge door open as the room dashed into silence, clearly he was interrupting something. With a beer dangling from his fingers and  Shu ĭ perched on his shoulder he navigated his way around Jet and Faye both staring at him in an uncomfortable silence. Halfway to the bridge's stairs Jet growled. Out of the corner of his eye, Spike noted where he was fixated. The bottle. Not even letting him get a word out, Spike flipped him off roughly behind his back. “Don't wanna hear it.” He lifted the bottle up and cracked the top off on  Shu ĭ's waiting teeth. Flicking the cap over his shoulder, he took a long gulp of the balm he needed.

“Damn it, Spike!”

“What do you want from me?” He stopped and shot a half-lidded gaze over his shoulder. “The goal was to get the crooked president to pony up a confession. I got it and now the guy's back here in our custody without a scratch on him. I mean it, if there's any bruising on his wrists from the cuffs, that's on his ass, not mine. Give me a damn break, for once!”

Faye edged backward, glancing between the two. She stood as a slight barrier for Daniel and Ellen. Somehow, she had been waiting for this, knowing it would come sooner or later.

Jet pointed at the bottle. “Do you even pay attention anymore?”

“You don't like seeing it? Don't watch.” He downed another good swallow.

“What is it with you? Since we got back you've been surly.”

Spike huffed a breath. “Do _you_ pay attention? It didn't start then.” He turned and took a few steps back toward, Jet. The intensity of his voice building. “In the cage. Every one of those death matches do you have any idea what it was like to have to make that damn choice!”

“What choice? Callus didn't give you one.”

Jostled by the activity, Shuĭ leapt off his shoulder and perched on the railing.

Spike narrowed his eyes. “Oh, I had one alright. I could have stopped myself short from the death blows. I could have been un-entertaining. I could have refused. There would have been a price for that.” He thrust a finger into Jet's chest. “You and Faye wouldn't have been protected. Every damn match, that was my choice! Standing between both of your fates or sealing mine! I took that burden and now you lay into me for what? Doing what I have to to try and forget the bloody cost?”

Taking a step back, Jet shook his head. “Spike … I … ”

“Yeah, I make it look easy. Have you ever asked how that's possible? What makes it seem effortless?” He knew the hardened edge was there in his stare. Knew it by the flicker of fear in Jet's eyes. The man didn't like what he saw, in fact he was downright disturbed. Spike even detested the sound of his own voice, but it was too late now. “Don't look away. Face the truth.” He couldn't help it, his hand gripped the tattoo on his arm.

Jet's jaw hung limp. “No … it's not true.”

Spike didn't look away. His eyes in a steady lock as Jet's darted everywhere, taking him all in. “For you and Faye these lines haven't been earned. But for me … Jet, for me **this** is my reality. One set in stone decades ago.” His fingers shifted. “This is who I really am.”

He swallowed hard. “But, all these years … ”

“The carefree, don't give a fuck attitude?” Spike's tone was icy, level, and firm. “A facade. You have no idea how difficult it was to uphold that act for years. To just exist in denial of who I was.”

“I refuse to believe it.” Jet pointed at him. “No matter what you say, I know the partner I hunted bounties with for years now. You are not that wretched ass anymore.”

“Am I? When I ran with Vicious there was an ongoing power struggle between us. Do you know how we'd decide things?” Spike pulled the red poker chip from his pocket and held it up. Instantly Jet seemed to recognize it, confusion in his eyes. “I'd flip a poker chip to decide who called the shots for the run. The other day when we were planning in this very room … I did it subconsciously. I don't even remember picking the damn thing up. That's how ingrained it is. Now tell me that's not who I am anymore.”

Jet blinked, slack jawed.

“You know what else comes from Vicious?” He lifted the bottle up as if giving a toast and took a big swig. “How to drown the demons we courted to get the damn job done. You talk about that facade being held for years, Jet—I was raised in the syndicate I served loyally for over a decade. I was honed into an attack dog set on self-sacrifice if the need came.” He pumped a fist, shuddering at the memories. “Those cage matches, the marks I left on the wall—not even a scratch on the surface of what I had done in service of the Red Dragons.”

“You had orders, you were a different guy.”

“No, that's a lame excuse.” Spike took a deep breath. “Kieran … a blunt reminder in the cage of my origins. I was an enforcer, I mercilessly culled the weak—even those I had once called the closest thing I ever had to friends. You've seen the truth. That the facade I showed you wasn't real … ” He looked away, wincing, “ … though I always wanted it to be.”

“It can be.”

“No it can't!” Spike shouted, his grip on the neck of the bottle threatening to shatter it. “Not with the edge re-honed! The only difference now is who I serve, and I barely listen to you as it is. No Jet, my moral compass was shattered before I can even remember. The truth is what you saw before … what you see now. I am finished pretending … and I ...” he bowed his head, “I can't bear the weight of my bloody past anymore.”

“What are you going to do? Run from it again? Damn it, Spike, can't you see this shit isn't working!”

Faye pushed Jet aside and closed the distance standing before Spike. “You can be so stubbornly blind. Even from the other side of the prison divider I saw the real you. Spike … you're so wrong. You can certainly be an ass. But the one you remember, the one who committed the sins that plague you? That isn't who I am looking at now. That immature shithead isn't the man I know. We both witnessed the behavior of the young thug you used to be. That isn't the man standing here today.”

Gritting his teeth, he looked away from her. “Stop making excuses for me. I still play dirty pool.”

She shifted into his line of sight, chasing it no matter where he tried to flee. He edged backward until his back touched the railing. Why had he told her so much before? He should have kept his mouth shut, kept everything close to the vest like wisdom dictated. But it was too late now. Nowhere else to go, she had him pinned. “Callus was the one betting on our flesh. He is the one who wounded you and dredged up the past. You did what you had to, using the skills you'd gained to keep us alive long enough to get out. Besides, you are not to blame … you were a kid when they took you.”

“Faye … believe me, deception was one of the skills I was taught. You've fallen for—”

She bit her lip. A tear trembling in the corner of her eye as she stomped a foot, fists shaking at her sides. “Are you telling me the man that made me jealous of a teenage girl when he comforted her and eased her fears … made me long to be the one he held in a tender embrace when she was scared out of her wits … is not real?”

Stunned into silence, Spike stared at her as she pounded a fist on his chest.

“Damn it, I _know_ you're lying. Your words to her, the way you cradled her in your arms. God, do you know how much I wanted that to be me? You're seriously going to tell me that the guy who patiently taught her how to face her own fears was all a hollow facade? And where did the guy go who threatened the bailiff in the courtroom so that Ed could say goodbye—to him?” She buried her face into his chest. “Would a syndicate thug ever do that?”

The silence stretched. Spike's eyes closed as he lowered his head, resting it against Faye's. His arms slowly embraced her. “No … he wouldn't have.” His voice was a mere whisper.

She wrapped her arms around him and held him tight, her voice muffled in his shirt. “You already told Jet you had a choice … you chose to protect us, you put your own life on the damn line repeatedly. Every match, every time you stepped into that fight you could have died. Spike, that's not heartless. You stood your ground in an abysmal situation.”

He heaved a sigh. “Shit … even though we dealt with Callus, we've still got to do something to expose that prison.”

She shifted and looked up at him. “Listen to yourself. Who is believing the con?”

Only then did he realize that somehow Faye had swiped the bottle from his hand. Jet now held it. It didn't stop his itch for it. But her words were right. He wasn't quite the heartless asshole he had been back in those days. Parts of what started as a facade had become a semblance of reality. No, he wasn't carefree, not even close. The problem now was that he cared too damn much. So much it hurt physically.

Her hand brushed his jawline. “Hey, you alright now? You know this isn't over. We're still in the middle of a huge mess.”

Spike forced himself to met her concerned gaze. “What you really want to know is if you can count on me.” He sighed and nodded. “Damn, I guess that part isn't a facade after all.”

Faye exhaled slowly. “I always knew it wasn't. By the way, speaking of dirty pool. Daniel didn't have time to manufacture the weaponized virus. How did you have a syringe with it?”

All eyes turned to Spike in shock. He reached into his pocket and tossed the syringe marked EPV-13 onto the table. “You mean that? All a bluff, which Whitecoff bought. That was the one for the vaccine Daniel gave me days ago. I put it in my pocket and forgot about it until I was waiting in the lobby for things to get into place.”

Daniel sat up straighter, a bewildered expression on his face. “That's why you called me and asked if he would know the enhanced virus's designation code.”

“Exactly. He had no clue the thing was empty. But if it hadn't been … ? Well, the only way that he would have known the code was through deceit. I had him dead to rights at that point. It was a surefire way to get him to show his hand.”


	36. Session 36

_ **Session 36** _

“I don't like this, Jet.” Spike stalked in a restless path around the living room, eyeing him as he tucked in the edge of the bandage covering his prison tattoo. He'd already concealed the one around his neck with the supplies on the table.

Jet glowered, fumbling for the hundredth time with his attempts to coordinate wrapping his own arm tattoo. The bandage kept unraveling. “What choice did I have? We have to meet somehow.”

“You do know a president comes with a full armed escort. One that you just invited right onto the ship!”

He huffed a breath as the end slipped again. “Landing would have been better with the airspace being essentially closed? We have what he needs. And it wasn't my brilliant plan to kidnap Whitecoff from his hotel. That was all you.”

Slashing the air with his hand, Spike snapped, “You think he would have listened to a polite request not to leave after confessing? I'm sure we can trust the guy willing to commit biological warfare for free access to farmland!”

Throwing the bandage on the table, Jet slammed his fist down. “How the hell do you get these things on yourself? It's impossible.”

With a sigh, Spike grabbed the bandage and roughly seized Jet's arm. “Practice. Now hold still or when I do your neck I'll purposefully yank it too tight and watch you turn blue.”

Jet watched him work, wrapping it in deft even strokes around his right arm. “I know what you're worried about.”

Spike's narrowed eyes glanced up at him before returning to the task at hand.

“I'm not going to let that happen.”

“What's plan B, Jet? Kidnap Brookridge so they don't take us in? We're fugitives.” By some miracle there were no registered bounties on file that they had been able to dredge up. Ed hadn't even found a single report about what happened on Ganymede, no obituary for Callus. At least nothing public, only a few coded remarks buried deep in internal communications. But still, one couldn't take chances.

“We're in a parlay.”

Tugging the bandage a bit tighter, Spike snorted. “Uh huh.” He tied it off and grabbed another shorter one to cover Jet's neck tattoo.

“Try having a little trust.”

“Fresh outta that, pard.” Finishing, he resumed pacing. Pulling out a cigarette, that one task took him five tries to get the lighter to work.

Faye, sporting her own tattoo-concealing bandages, touched Spike's shoulder startling him into looking down into her eyes. “Spike … listen to me. Don't bolt out of here in the _Swordfish_. None of us can outrun this. We have to face it together.”

He blinked. “I wasn't … ”

She shook her head. “You're practically hyperventilating. And you've been staring toward the hall to the hanger door for the last two minutes.”

At her words he checked in with himself. His chest heaving with each breath, heart racing. His muscles burned from being frozen in place. What was happening to him? He closed his eyes.

“It's going to be alright.”

“I wish I had your confidence.” That sounded so wrong coming out of his mouth.

From up on the bridge Ed's cheery voice rang out. “Ding dong ding dong! Visitors! Visitors have arrived!”

Wide-eyed, Spike stared up at her as she leaned on the railing. Too late. “Shit.” Now he had no choice but to face the music.

* * *

It could have been a stand off in an old western movie playing out in the _Bebop's_ living room. Brookridge stood flanked by an escort, four officers in body armor openly carrying heavy duty firearms. The president of Europa looked anything but pleased as he stared Jet in the eyes.

Jet stood with his arms crossed, no more contentment in his posture. But it was really the strain of keeping an eye on Spike off his left and slightly behind. He had resumed that dark threatening air, his eyes shifting between each of the four officers, his hand at his side flexing, ready to grab his holstered gun hidden beneath his jacket.

_Don't do it, pard. Take it easy. Let's try talking this out first._ And yet he realized now the obvious source of Spike's nerves. The advantage of this meeting being on their ship wasn't an advantage at all. With the president's cruiser orbiting beside them, there was no where they could go if negotiations failed. How many laws had they broken?

Faye stood off to Jet's right, one knee cocked and her own arms crossed. She was calm, but had a no nonsense expression on her face. At least one of his crew members didn't require a hawk's vigilant eye. It felt odd that one being Faye.

Behind them, up the stair on the platform to the rear of bridge Ed and Ein sat watching alongside the Adenines.

Brookridge took a deep breath. “This is certainly an unexpected development. At this point in time I was supposed to be meeting with President Whitecoff to discuss his offered assistance for my stricken moon. Now I find myself here negotiating to get custody of him.”

Jet nodded. “I trust the reason for your contact to us was because of Whitecoff's message.”

His hands flexed into fists. “Yes. I received the unsettling transmission.” He glanced up at Dr. Adenine. “It appears you are in possession of two things I need now.”

“A lot of work went into getting those.” Jet added gruffly, he had to play this right or there would be hell to pay. “We've been considerably inconvenienced.”

“To put it mildly.”

“Shut it, Spike.” Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the scowl.

Brookridge shifted his gaze to Spike, his eyes narrowing. Of course, the bruising was still visible.

“We are not your enemy, President Brookridge. I can assure you, the circumstances dictated our actions. We were aware Whitecoff technically has diplomatic immunity.”

“Which has been fully revoked.” He returned a hostile glare to Jet. “That doesn't apply to acts of war. I want the man handed over to me immediately. Europa will see him punished. The lives his interference has cost by delaying the vaccination phase and covertly introducing pockets of the weaponized virus to our already burdened system must be atoned for.”

Spike took a step forward. “You mean **all** the lives his despicable plan impacted, not just those on Europa.”

Jet eyed him. “Spike, save that for Ganymede.”

“Screw that.” He shook a fist. “There's no way I'm letting the mark go after what he did unless I'm certain he's not going to get away with what that bastard did. If I had it my way he'd be breathing through a hole in his neck right now!”

“Enough!” Jet pushed him back, earning a death-eye from Spike. Turning back to Brookridge, Jet held up a hand. “Please excuse the outburst. I didn't want to lay this on the table so swiftly, but my crew and I were targets too.”

“Targets, tsh.” Spike looked toward the ceiling fan as Jet shot him another glare.

“There was a lot of tense discussion on how to handle the more … personal aspect of this. We were unable to come to an agreement.”

Brookridge held up a hand. “I understand. Were it not for your intervention I would not have known the threat to Europa before he stepped in as the _hero_ saving and taking over my stricken moon. I can't believe he was going to try that, and yet I heard it from his own mouth! This pox has had a terrible impact before Dr. Adenine's abduction. We owe you a great deal in compensation. At the very least covering your expenses.”

Jet closed his eyes and swallowed. “There's something more pressing that only someone of your station can provide.”

“Yes? What is it?”

Spike stepped up to Jet's side, eyes creased with worry. Barely perceptible he shook his head.

_This is the gamble we have to take, buddy. Keep it cool._

Faye joined him and nodded as her hand came up, a finger hooking the edge of the bandage around her neck. Jet reached for his as well. They both looked at Spike. At length, he bowed his head in a long exhale and reached up. All three pulled the bandages off revealing the telltale tattoos.

Brookridge gasped as his officers tensed, one nearly bringing up the muzzle of his gun before the senior officer hastily waved it down.

Jet tossed the bandage aside and tugged off the one on his right arm. “Whitecoff used the bounty system to get us out of the way so we couldn't intervene. His intention was for it to be permanent.”

Spike muttered to the floor, “We weren't exactly released.”

Recovering from his shock, Brookridge pointed at Spike and Faye. “Wait … am I remembering this correctly? The cruise ship, the  _Golden Calf_ . Didn't you two stop some hijackers on the bridge?”

Adenine stepped to the railing and called down, “Yes, Mr. President. That was the same Spike Spiegel and Faye Valentine. They'd been on the ship chasing the couple who were trying to steal my data. Another man, Gunter Keller, who had been on the ship knew they had stumbled across part of Whitecoff's plan. All because of that they were imprisoned on Ganymede under false charges and, as I have seen evidence, they were tortured there. If it hadn't been for the two of them racing into the compound where my wife and I were being held hostage on Io we'd still be there by Keller.” He showed his wrists, raw from the ropes they had used.

At his side, Jet noted Spike tensing, a bead of sweat dripping down from his forehead, a fist clenched at his side. 

Brookridge shook his head. “This is quite the mess to cleanup. Ganymede is not technically my jurisdiction.”

That did not induce a good reaction out of any of them. 

He held up a hand. “But this is certainly extraordinary circumstances. Regretfully, we are in a crisis time and I must ask for further assistance from you. It is my understanding that two of you have received the vaccine, correct?”

Spike and Faye glanced to one another.

“The vaccine takes a couple days to come into effect serologically, as Adenine had previously explained to me.”

Adenine heaved a heavy sigh. “We need those immune to jump start the public vaccinations. We can't wait for medical staff. I sent the formula to the lab and they are already synthesizing it. We'll be ready for the first wave tomorrow. Spike, Faye … please.”

Brookridge held out a hand. “In exchange, as soon as possible an official full pardon, records expunged, and the removal of those damning tattoos. I  **will** make that happen. Please. I am desperate to save my people before this spreads any further.” He edged toward Spike first.

Staring at the gesture, Spike hesitantly lifted his hand and grasped Brookridge's, meeting the president's relieved gaze. 

The tension broke as Brookridge shook Faye and Jet's hands. A moment later, Ed slid down the stair rail and then held Ein paws first up to the bewildered president. “And who is this?”

“Ein is a cow-woof-woof.” She rocked back and forth on her heels. “He helped too, but he doesn't need a pardon.”

Spike offered Jet a crooked grin. “Alright, I admit it. Looks like I owe you running down the next bounty. You were right.”

Jet finally felt like he could breathe again. “I told you to trust me.”

“That was one bet I am actually glad I lost.”

* * *

Their voices echoed down the hallway, pelting Spike as he lounged on the couch. Jet was bringing the ship down behind the President's cruiser, special clearance to dock on Europa. Whitecoff remained in the discomfort of their cargo hold, which Brookridge agreed was fitting, allowing the asshole to stew unaware of his fate for a bit longer. They would hand him straight off to the authorities after docking. Still, the voices disrupted Spike's attempt to take a nap.

Daniel fought to keep his voice low, “Just a little bit longer, Ellen. I promise.”

“Why didn't we transfer to the Europa vessel when Brookridge asked? Please, for God's sake!”

“Because. I'm nearly done synthesizing two more doses for Jet and Ed on here. In fact those will be done within an hour. In a couple days they will be cleared to help. And I have to show Spike and Faye how to administer the vaccinations.”

Her voice trembled. “I don't think that's such a good idea.” 

“You know how contagious this is. It's too risky for anyone who doesn't have active immunity. By doing this while the staff is in the waiting period, they can start on some of the most at risk population in the capitol. Ellen, remember them from the cruise ship? They are not bad people.”

“Honey I—”

“I love you, but right now there is something more important than being judgmental. We need help, and they are willing.” His footsteps carried into the living room.

Spike glanced up, head cradled in his arms. 

“You saw how I did it, right?” Daniel's eyes creased with worry.

“Yeah. Quick poke just under the skin. Not like it's a vein stick or anything. This isn't too hard.” 

He blinked. “Wait … you know how to perform venipuncture?”

Spike lifted a shoulder. “All of us, except the kid, know how to set IVs. Bounty hunting is dangerous work. Shit happens more often than not. Docs are in short supply between hypergates.”

“I … hadn't thought about that.” He pointed down toward the workshop. “The next batch is nearly done. I'll have you two give them for practice.”

Faye wandered in from the kitchen. 

Spike raised a hand. “I call dibs on Jet, she gets Ed.”

She blinked. “Wait, what just happened?”


	37. Session 37

_ **Session 37** _

“Ahahaha haha!” Ed's laughter echoed through the ship's corridors as she did her third evasive lap down every corridor.

“Edward, you little shit! Get back here!”

Spike leaned on the railing behind the bridge smoking a cigarette as Jet wandered up. “Well, we're docked. Is she still trying to vaccinate Ed?”

Spike nodded with a grin. “Gotta admit, Ed is pretty fast when she's not sleeping like a cat.”

Faye's shouting continued, “Get out of there! You know I can't fit in the air ducts!”

“Ed can! Ed Can! La la la! Faye-Faye too big. Hehehe!”

Faye snarled, “This doesn't hurt. But if you don't get out here soon I'll make it hurt.”

“Hehe!”

Shaking his head, Jet lit a cigarette. “Faye's got a great bedside manner.”

“Tell me about it.”Spike eyed him. “Is that why you had her tend my injuries so much?”

“No. I was just tired of that duty, and there was a certain entertainment factor.”

“Touche.”

CRASH!

They both looked down toward the darkened corridor, the source of all the ruckus. A moment later, Ed shrieked. Followed by Faye's jaw clenched reply, “Hold still, you little brat!”

Daniel cried out, “There's only one dose, be careful with that.”

“Oww! Ed, hold still!”

Spike eyed Jet sideways. “Yo, thanks for holding still.”

Jet stretched and rubbed the tiny puncture in his shoulder. “No problem.” His phone buzzed with a message. “Oh, hey, they wasted no time. Looks like the escort is here. Wanna help me bring our special delivery up for collection?”

“Can I drop it kick it along the way?”

“They want him in one piece.”

Spike shrugged, hands in his pockets. “I'll be gentle.”

They opened the cargo hold. A shaft of light spilled onto Whitecoff. He blinked, turning his eyes from it after being in the dark, chilly hold for days. They'd only dropped in to give him enough to drink for survival. He was haggard and soiled.

They had no sympathy for him.

Through a dry throat he croaked, “I'll have your heads for this.”

Spike held the man's wrists with a white-knuckled grip as Jet unlocked the cuffs to free him from the chair. “I'm positively shaking. You can stop struggling before you give me an excuse to deliver a solid kidney shot.”

“Spike.”

“Call it a parting gift.”

Whitecoff glared over his shoulder. “This treatment was positively inhumane!”

Digging his nails into Whitecoff's flesh drew his head back in a pained scream. Spike hissed into his ear, “I take it you've never been waterboarded. Hey Jet, we have a few minutes, I want to give him a demonstration.”

“No.” He snapped the cuffs back in place coaxing Spike to let go. “He's too soft to survive even the first round. Alright Whitecoff, nice and easy. Just walk forward and I won't let Spike do what he wants to.”

“Humph. And what is that?”

Spike pulled the cigarette from his mouth and grinned, his gun suddenly in his hand. “Ever heard of a tracheotomy? I've never wanted more to perform one.”

The color drained from Whitecoff as well as all the tension holding him upright. He crumpled into a heap.

Spike stared down for a half a minute before nudging his limp arm with a foot. “Huh.”

“Way to go, lunkhead! I told you he was soft.”

“Don't know what he was worried about.” He held the gun up.”Safety's still on.”

Folding his arms, Jet glared at him. “Pick him up.”

“Oh come on!”

“You were the one who knocked him out. You carry his ass up there.”

Spike pointed down the hall. “All the way?”

Jet leaned into his glare. “All the way.”

“Grrr.”

“Get a move on.”

Grumbling, Spike bent down and hefted the passed out politician over his shoulder. “Was just having a bit of fun. Then this jerk has to go and ruin it.”

* * *

The lines stretched back in the capital's central park. Wide spaces between each of the families waiting for the vaccines held in the precious cold storage cases at Spike and Faye's feet. At least a tent had been provided for shade. Europa was indeed a more tropical climate. In the midst of a full morning of the monotonous task, Spike had discarded his own jacket, as they insisted they wear lab coats for this task. By mid morning, he didn't care what anyone said, he'd rolled the lab coat sleeves back. Of course only then did he realize neither he nor Faye had remembered to cover their tattoos. It was too late to run back to the ship for the bandages. That left him at the annoyance of the nervous glances each time he reached out with his left arm. He almost buttoned his collar and pushed the knot of his tie up, but it wouldn't have fully covered the bars anyway.

Most of the residents didn't say a word. They didn't have to. Their eyes said it all as they debated facing the ravages of the virus verses the risk of approaching his taboo ass. He'd lost track of how many he had given. Tracking and logging them wasn't his task. There was a record keeper behind a protective plexiglass barrier for that. All he needed to do was jab a loaded syringe into whoever came up to his station.

Prepped for the next one, he waved a hand for them to come forward. There was no motion. He looked up to find a young mother hugging her toddler tight, grasping the back of the child's head so he couldn't even look this direction. She was visibly shaking, frozen in place.

Spike cleared his throat and gestured again. “Next.”

Wide-eyed she still did not move.

A terrible ember burned in Spike's chest, sparked by the fear in her eyes. He had expected this to an extent. But that didn't make the virtual slap any easier to bear.

Another woman wandered over, keeping a slight safe distance from the mother. And called out to her.

Spike blinked. _Ellen Adenine?_ She had gotten the vaccine, but it was too soon to have activated.

Facing the other way, he couldn't hear her words but in the course of a few minutes the mother tentatively walked the rest of the way up, brushing the back of her child gently.

Spike held up the loaded syringe. “It doesn't hurt.”

She wouldn't meet his eyes, but she tugged her sleeve up bearing her shoulder.

He sterilized the spot and gave her the quick jab. It took him but a moment to load a new syringe with the child dose as Daniel had instructed.

With a death grip, the mother continued to hide her child's face from him as he took even more care. Withdrawing the needle he tried to smile, “There we go, all … ”

She was already running off.

“ … done.” His shoulders sagged. Why did it hurt so much? He didn't even know her, would probably never see her again. Because … because she showed him what he feared.

A hand touched his. He looked up to find Ellen's solemn gaze. In her other hand she had a cold bottle of Europa's signature juice. “Time for a break, Mr. Spiegel. Would you … would you walk with me for a moment?”

So unexpected, he took the offered drink, after all he was parched. The moment he took a gulp of the tropical blend he felt a bit of relief. This was some pretty tasty stuff, a mixture of sweet and tangy. He followed Ellen as she walked deeper into the tent toward the ornamental fountain featuring a flock of stone carved cranes just outside the back of it.

She sat down and gestured for Spike to join her. Her eyes glued on the rippling water, she took a deep breath. “I … I owe you all apologies. But especially you, Mr. Spiegel.”

He sat down on the edge of the fountain before he ended up falling onto it from shock. He covered that with his usual half-lidded air. “Spike. You can just call me Spike like everyone else does.”

“Spike.” She played with her fingers. “I saw those marks and couldn't see anything beyond them. I'd been convinced you were a criminal who didn't belong in society.”

That stung, and yet he expected it. After all, it was what he had been petrified about. All the damn snap judgments.

“But I was wrong about the whole crew. After all, you came for Daniel and I. I should have known then. This,” she gestured back to the tent, “this proves that I was dead wrong. You could have refused. Could have said you'd done enough considering all you'd been through to clear up this convoluted mess. Yet, here you are, dedicated to helping us start to get out of this mess. I'll be talking to Faye too, but after I saw that mother … ” her voice caught in her throat, “ … I saw how I'd looked at you. How unfair that was since I should have known better. Please, forgive me.”

Spike tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “Don't worry about it. But … thank you. Thanks for finally talking to me.” … _it means more than you know._

Ellen blushed, and touched his hand. “Ask if you need anything else throughout the day. I'll be around helping out Daniel. You all, you really are heroes.”

She picked up another bottle of the signature drink and wandered toward Faye.

Standing up, Spike finished his bottle. In the rippling water he caught his reflection in the white coat. His eyes narrowed. Something about that nagging him. Not in a painful way … but an odd distant tugging.

It looked vaguely familiar, aside from seeing the various doctors and surgeons wearing one.

He heaved a sigh. There wasn't time to linger here letting his thoughts drift. He turned, shoving his hands in the lab coat pockets and strode back to his station picking up the clean syringe.

“Next!”


	38. Session 38

_ **Session 38** _

There seemed no end to the lines of frightened citizens gathering in the park. Even as the days passed on with Jet joining the ranks of the vaccine administers. A veritable army of lab coated men and women gathered beneath the expansion of tents with the miracle loaded syringes as the next person was sent to their station. Spike, Faye, and Jet remained under the original tent at the center of it all. With the staff now on duty they no longer had to be, but they chose to despite the long hours. They endured the anxious glares sent their way, overheard the nervous requests to be sent to a different person, handled frightened patient after patient with an apathetic stare. It just got mind numbingly old.

“Hey Spike,” Jet called out. “I'm running low, you got more?”

Spike while changing the disposable gloves, tapped the ice chest beside his table with a foot and shook his head. “Gettin' down there.”

“Eeeeeeehhhhheeeeee!”

All eyes turned to watch the exuberant Ed pulling a wagon loaded with bio-marked ice chests at a break neck speed. Ein galloped beside her. The wheels rattled over the stones, the chests bounced around threatening to topple off.

“Ed! Slow down!” Jet held up his hands. “Those are glass vials in there!”

She ground to a halt right beside him. A chest shifting preciously close to the balance point. Dancing around she grinned. “Edward is helping.”

Spike shook his head. “Someone let her cart those? Wow, talk about a lapse in judgment.”

Groaning, Jet palmed his face. “Ed, you have to be careful. What's in there takes days to synthesize.”

Picking up the chest she spun in a circle. “Synth, synth, synthesize-o.”

Gingerly, Jet took it from her. “Thank you, Ed. Now, slowly take the other two to Spike and Faye.”

She pressed a finger to her chin. “The man said to hurry.”

“This stuff is fragile, you need to handle it like a … ”

“Like an egg?”

“Yes, Ed. Like an egg.”

She squinted at the ice chests. “Hard boiled or soft?”

Jet grumbled into his hand. He pointed with his other one toward Spike and Faye, both of whom were concentrating on their tasks.

The wagon wheels rumbled a bit quieter as Ed tugged it over their way. Ein paused at Jet's feet. He looked up, wagging his butt and gave a panting grin before waddling off toward the others.

Hours later, the trio lingered by the fountain enjoying bottles of the fruit drink. Not a surprise to any of them, the other staff congregated in their own circles.

“You know, Jet,” Spike leaned back on a elbow, “out of all of us, you're probably the best at this.”

Faye snorted a laugh. “Cause he gets plenty of practice on you.”

“She has a point, pard.”

He laughed. “Not even one I can argue.”

“Still,” Jet held up his bottle as he pointed at Spike, “that's a surprisingly good look on you. _Calling Dr. Spiegel._ ”

Half-lidding his eyes he filled the silence with a gulp from the bottle. “Yeah, I don't think I'll be sticking with it. White really isn't my color.”

“But you looked so good in a white suit,” mused Faye.

“One good thing came out of this.” Spike cracked a grin. “So much for that suit, considering I was wearing it when we got picked up. That thing is still in evidence—where it can stay.”

Faye blinked, suddenly realizing. “Oh crap! My emerald gown.”

“Oh yeah, that one too.”

“Jet, do you think we can ask Brookridge to reimburse us for that?”

Spike interjected, “Ahh, first we have to see whether or not the ol' politician makes good on anything he said.”

Holding up a hand, Jet eyed him. “Give the guy a chance to get this fiasco under control. The crowds are still coming. I'm sure once things are at a good stride there'll be time for that. In the meantime the police aren't harassing us. So he's clearly told them something.”

“Maybe he's told the police, but he hasn't told them.” Spike pointed out to the crowd.

Bowing his head, Jet sighed. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Faye rubbed her arm absently. “Kind of hard not to.”

“Alright, guys. Just remember that Brookridge sent supplies to the ship already replacing a lot of what had spoiled while we in lock up. I think he's going to come through once he can.”

Holding up the bottle of the juice she smiled. “He did give us several crates of this stuff.”

Spike stared at the ripples in the fountain. “Wonder what he's going to do to Whitecoff? We still haven't heard anything in that vein either.”

* * *

A full week had passed before the lines began to dwindle. In the late afternoon a man in a business suit waved them all together. “Hey, you guys are done for today. There's a car sent by Brookridge waiting for you. The uhh, the girl and the dog are already in it.” He looked a touch nervous. “If you could hurry I'd appreciate it.”

“Where are we going?” Jet tugged the lab coat off.

“City hall.” He was preoccupied with a list.

Spike eyed Jet as he discarded the borrowed lab coat and re-donned his blue suit jacket. He whispered, “Moment of truth, pard.”

Leaning over, Jet kept his voice down, “Tell me you left your gun back on the ship.”

“Ok, I did.” Spike started to walk off, glancing over his shoulder he pushed the back of his jacket up to a glint of metal tucked secure in his concealed holster. “But that's a lie.”

Jet's words caught in his throat until Faye grabbed his arm. “Come on, it's not like that's a shocker. I bet he sleeps with the damn thing.”

Spike muttered without looking back, “Faye, have you been spying on me?”

She didn't even deign to reply to him as they approached not just a vehicle, but a stretch limo. Ed waved out of the open sunroof. “It's so shiny and it has tiny flags!” She pointed to the twin Europa flags attached to either side of the car's front. “ _Bebop_ crew be stylin'!”

The half burnt cigarette hung limp from Spike's mouth.

* * *

President Brookridge stood back from the podium on the steps of city hall surrounded by an endless sea of reporters and citizens gathered in a throng. Everyone was impatient for the start, but he gestured for them to simmer down, watching, waiting. There had not been time for him to appear in a news conference prior to this.

At last his personal limo pulled up to a cordoned off area. Brookridge smiled as his assistant opened the door and pointed up the stairs to where he stood. Slowly, they emerged from the limo and walked the special path left cleared for them. Photos snapped in a sound like a sudden downpour.

His special guests seemed a bit reserved with the attention. All of them walking with a guarded air … except for the barefoot child racing the little corgi up the stairs, both with huge grins plastered on their faces. He didn't have to check his cards to recall them from the meeting on that dilapidated ship that her name was Edward and the dog was Ein. That was hard to forget.

She darted right up to him tucked, one barefoot behind the other and held out her hand. “Yo Mr. Prez! Nice to see you again!”

Brookridge chuckled at her antics as out of the corner of his eyes he watched the wave of shock through the crowd and security alike. But he had told security to just take it easy today. Gripping Ed's hand he shook it. “Well, hello little lady.”

Ed giggled and looked down at Ein wiggling at his feet. “Hehe, you hear that? He called Ed a lady.” With her fingers grabbing a phantom skirt, Ed made a mock curtsy.

At the edge of the platform, the other three stood. He had to check his notes quickly. The big burly guy was the captain, Jet Black. The tail thin man in the suit was Spike Spiegel. And the confident woman was Faye Valentine. It wouldn't do to get their names wrong.

Brookridge offered a smile as he pushed Ed's shoulder back toward the others. “If you would, please. I'll be with you shortly.”

Ed turned and gave his raised hand a high five before darting off, dog in tow.

Staring at his hand, bemused, Brookridge collected himself before approaching the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of Europa.” All cameras turned to him. “I had hoped to give this speech a considerable amount of time ago. However, circumstances stood in my way. Circumstances that have become ever more clearer. Regretfully, this now has an altogether different tone. Europa has been plagued by a terrible virus for much of the year. On the forefront against this scourge was Dr. Daniel Adenine and his breakthrough research.

“As you well know, weeks ago Adenine went missing leaving the entire moon colony at the mercy of the Europa Pox Virus. Precious time stolen from us when pockets of a more virulent strain began to emerge. In the bleak outlook assistance reached out. Io's president Whitecoff.

“I trusted a fellow president to be honest.” Brookridge formed a fist. “What follows will be shocking. But my analysts confirmed its authenticity. This is in fact President Whitecoff. Please play the file.”

He stepped back as a holographic screen lit up. Whitecoff appeared from back up in the penthouse. “I have a confession to make. As President of Io I abused my position in office. I hired a syndicate to intercept the formula for the vaccine as well as the RNA breakdown for weaponizing the virus. When this initial tactic failed due to the interference of some bounty hunters, I reworked my plan and used my connections to post a bounty for them. Once they were out of my way and I was certain they could no longer ruin my plans, I ordered the abduction of Dr. Adenine onto Io, forcing him to work to manufacture the more virulent strain which I arranged the covert release of on Europa. All of this in an effort to strong arm Brookridge by destabilizing his moon colony enough to surrender it to a more stable government. Yes. I had intended a hostile takeover of Europa for the purpose of claiming the cropland to address Io's farming shortage.” His eyes flicked up toward something off to his side. He swallowed and faced the camera before bowing his head. “I plead guilty of waging bio-warfare on Europa in the name of political gain.”

Gasps rounded the crowd.

Brookridge took the podium. “Ex-president Whitecoff is in our custody and awaiting his sentencing next week. He had officially entered a guilty plea. That will be announced once the special council has rendered its judgment.”

Questions pelted the air.

He held up his hands. “Please, hold questions until the end. We have another matter to clear up. I never would have learned of this devastating plan in time had it not been for another set of Whitecoff's unfortunate victims. The crew of the _Bebop._ ”

Brookridge gestured toward them. “Please would you join me up here. Closer, right beside the podium where there is room.” He waited as the four members and the little dog came to his side. The cameras exploded into action. He noticed they shifted the tattoos away from the view as much as possible, but because of the camera angles that was not entirely possible. “Our colony owes them a debt of the greatest gratitude. These bounty hunters not only intercepted the original plan back on the _Golden Calf_ , but they also unraveled the further developments, rescuing Dr. Adenine and his wife from being held hostage on Io before racing here to intercept Whitecoff preventing his chance to mislead me. They are also responsible for beginning the administrations of the vaccines under Adenine's instruction. All of this after Whitecoff had arranged for their arrests and false imprisonment for over a month.”

Spike stood a bit stiffer, a hard edge to his gaze as the cameras focused on them all. He tried to tuck his marked arm behind the edge of his jacket. It didn't matter, the one on his neck was still visible. Jet and Faye shifted from foot to foot seemingly unable to pick a point to fixate on. The crowd was vast. Ed bent down and scooped up Ein, tucking him under one arm she waved enthusiastically.

“As President of Europa I hereby officially pardon and fully expunge the records of Jet Black, Spike Spiegel, Faye Valentine, and Edward … uuhhh,” he blinked at the name before he looked back up and smiled at her. “Ed. And of course, my thanks go to Ein as well.”

The corgi woofed and raised a paw.

“Arrangements will be made for the removal of their prison tattoos and our thanks goes out to them as heroes in our time of need. Our thanks will never be enough to repay you.” Brookridge held out a hand toward Jet. “Please, accept my humble apologies for the way you have been treated.”

Jet cracked a sideways grin. “Happy to serve.”

Next he offered it to Faye. She smiled and took his hand before stepping aside.

Spike remained a bit reserved, a minute passing before he closed the distance and gripped the hand firmly. Almost painfully firm. His eyes bored into Brookridge with a certain distrust.

Leaning closer Brookridge patted their clasped hands, he kept his voice down, away from the mic. “I know you were a major target of his. I assure you, I will do my best to ensure he pays dearly, with the maximum penalty we can legally administer..”

“If you need a firing squad,” Spike's harsh whisper sent a shiver down his spine, “I have a full mag with that asshole's name on it.”

Breaking it off, Brookridge offered his hand to Ed, she giggled and held Ein up for a paw shake. This was by far the strangest press conference he'd ever held. But he turned to pose for the photos with the crew that made this all possible. The heroes who came to Europa's plight.


	39. Session 39

_ **Session 39** _

Faye reclined on the table in Europa's general hospital. Her eyes drifted to the surgeon and his assistant prepping everything essential for the task. Their gazes kept flicking toward the doorway. Spike and Jet stood, waiting for their turn. But there was another reason. Tucked beneath Spike's folded arms the muzzle of his gun peeked out. No wonder the staff was worried.

In truth, Faye was too.

Spike cleared his throat. “This is a local only, right?”

The assistant holding the syringe froze and eyed him. A bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. The surgeon answered. “As I explained multiple times already, yes. The laser tattoos can be removed without it being essential for the patients going under. Now please, Mr. Spiegel, I assure you we are professionals here under the direct orders of President Brookridge. There is no need for … ummm … that.” He pointed to the glimmer off the gun.

“Mmm hmm. We'll see about that.” He locked eyes with Faye. “We're not going anywhere in case they try anything funny.”

Jet nodded firmly as Faye exhaled a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. “Thanks guys.” Even though things seemed on the up and up, after their recent experiences, none of them were taking any risks. It's why they insisted on one at a time, so they could stand guard.

The surgeon closed his eyes and waved the assistant on. “Ok. Shall we get started?”

The fine needle stuck into her arm in various places around the tattoo spreading a strange numbness. After waiting a few minutes the assistant tapped a gloved finger all over it. “Feel anything?”

“Just pressure.”

“Good. All set.” The assistant moved out of the way.

Shifting the overhead light, the surgeon pulled a machine with a handheld nozzle closer. “Please hold still as possible. This will take a bit.” Carefully he ran the nozzle back and forth over her marked skin. It produced a strange sensation, like a finger stroke. But it didn't hurt at all. When she glanced down she watched the device erasing the marks, her eyes widened. That wasn't at all what the other doctor had used on Spike. The removal had been physical. Then again, that was an unlicensed doc and Spike had been taken **deep under** a general. He didn't feel a damned thing and barely remembered that whole day. By the time he'd been brought out of it the doc had completed the fused lab-grown skin grafts so seamlessly no one would ever know. That doc had some impressive skills, all things considered. She often wondered what he'd done to lose his license.

A half hour later the surgeon finished leaving behind unblemished skin and the assistant numbed the side of her neck.

Spike still remained on guard as they waited the few minutes needed for the local to kick in. Still on the table, Faye didn't even dream of asking him to lighten up. He was keeping true to his word. No one was going to fuck with them today.

Fifteen minutes later, Faye stood up and looked in mirror. The mark was gone. The skin remained numb, but it was smooth as silk. The evidence completely gone.

The assistant looked to the guys. “Who's next?”

Spike tucked his gun away and approached the table. He removed his jacket and rolled the sleeve well up out of the way before lying on his back. His eyes locked onto the assistant watching his every move with that _move wrong and it'll be your last needle stick_ expression. The assistant exhaled a deep breath, seeming to relax, until he looked up to spy Jet's gun now peeking out from beneath his folded arms. The color drained from him.

“Insurance.” Jet tapped a finger outside the trigger guard. “Just do the same thing and we're good, pal.”

The assistant gestured and hissed at the surgeon, “Are they gonna do this the whole time?”

“Just go with it.”

“But … seriously? This is hardly … ”

The surgeon slashed the air with his hand. “Do it, now. I really don't want to have to extract bullets today.”

He sighed and picked up a new syringe working it into the marked skin. “I don't get the reason.”

“Trust me, buddy.” Spike muttered, “There's a solid reason.”

Faye had joined Jet in the doorway, memories of waking up in the cell clung to her. No one was going to get their hands on them again.

Once they finished with Spike, Jet took the table under the guard of Faye's gun.

The assistant buried his face in his hands. “For heaven's sake!”

* * *

Spike laid his head back on the couch. Feet up on the table, he watched the spinning of the fan blades play with the rising pattern of his cigarette smoke. A program he was only vaguely interested in played on the receiver. Beside him, Ein snored away, his legs kicking once in a while in the grips of some dream.

On the floor, Ed messed around on her computer.

The music of a breaking announcement came across. Spike looked up. “Yo, Jet, Faye. Might wanna come here for this.”

Jet emerged from the bridge as Faye came up from the hall below, hair still wet from a shower. “What is it?”

He pointed to the news.

“ _This is a special live broadcast from Europa. President Brookridge is about to make an official announcement concerning the sentencing of Whitecoff. We are just waiting for … oh, looks like he's ready.”_

Standing behind the same podium, an unsmiling Brookridge held up a hand to silence the chatter. _“Citizens of Europa, the council has met virtually for an unprecedented task. The sentencing of a president for the deplorable actions of attempting the use of bio-logical warfare against another colony. This is a decision that the solar system has not faced before. This is why a formal council was formed from delegates representing every colony, including Io. We did not take this decision lightly. But the case must be shown that no one is above the law. And those who have been entrusted with the leadership,_ _ **must**_ _act responsibly._

“ _It has been determined that Whitecoff has been neglecting the needs of his own colony for some time. He failed to act on more reasonable means to correct the food shortage issue. Furthermore, his plans to acquire suitable farming land on Europa cost millions of innocent lives if by nothing more than delaying the life saving vaccination._

“ _Today the council formally stripped Whitecoff of his position and sentenced him to immediate deportation to Pluto's Quidlivun Cavus. A man who is used to the desert regions of Io will live out the remainder of his days in that frozen cavern.”_

Spike laughed wickedly. “Ok, that's better than a firing squad. Do you guys have any idea how a yellow-belly like him is going to take to that accursed place? The inmates will dissect him inside a week once they find out he's a sleazy politician. The ice fever won't even get a chance to nail him.”

Faye smirked. “Hope he likes stripes.”

“Hope he's awake for the tattooing procedure. Man, this is some sick poetic justice.” Spike exhaled a breath of smoke. “Speaking of which, Jet, can we head to Mars?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Any particular reason?”

Spike eyed him with a sideways grin. “Just a little cordial visit.”

“Anyone we know?”

“As a matter of fact … ”

Ed grinned and took over the screen of the receiver as a horridly tacky decorated ranch house came into view. “Yes we do.”

Faye leaned on the table, jaw hanging open. “I know that place.”

“Course you, do. He's still listed as living there.” Spike discarded his burnt cigarette.

Jet shook his head. “Spike, we just got out of trouble. Are you suggesting we land ourselves in hot water just to get a revenge shot? He doesn't have a bounty on him.”

Spike waved a finger.

Ed pressed a button on her computer and laughed. “He and his girly do now!”

With a start, Jet leaned over her computer. “What did you two do? Holy shit! Spike, that's the same amount that we took from Callus's safe!”

Spike reclined with half-lidded eyes. “I know. Just putting it to good use. We don't need it anymore since Brookridge also unfroze our accounts for us. Now … if we hurry, we can even get paid to bust his ass.”

“Spike! You can't claim your own bounty!”

Ed dissolved into giggles. “Sure the _Bebop_ can! It was well laundered and filed under one Hanna Banana.”

Jet groaned.

“Don't look at me, that part was her idea. I suggested Smith.”

Faye raised a hand. “I volunteer to go with Spike on this one. We do owe the son of a gun.”

Clomping back up to the bridge, Jet shot back, “I can't believe you guys. Spike, I'm not counting that as your owed bounty.”

Grinning, Spike stretched and cradled the back of his neck. “I figured.”

* * *

The door to the ranch opened. Andy walked in, shutting it behind him with a smile. “Oh my Sweet Sue, your wild ridin' Andy boy is ho—!”

Nothing else made it out. Spike's fist smashed into the side of his head from where he had been waiting in the shadows behind the door.

In the bedroom, Sue's muffled frantic cries echoed. Faye leaned against the door frame. “Look who has a glass jaw.”

Spike picked up the rag doll and dragged him away from the door. “He'll wake back up. I figure, why rush this?”

“I almost feel sorry.” Faye's smile grew darker as she eyed Sue's panicked gaze. “Almost. But you are the last link we need to tie up. Oh, and thanks for messaging Andy for us so we didn't have to wait so long, sweetheart.” She held up the phone and grinned all the way into her eyes.

A short while later, Andy's head lolled to the side as he regained consciousness. He started as he discovered his hands cuffed behind his back. Blinking, he looked around the bedroom to find Sue bound and tethered to the bed, seated on the floor.

On their bed, Spike and Faye reclined playing a card game. She looked up. “Oh, hey, look.”

Spike huffed a breath. “Let's finish this round at least. All in.”

“Spike! Damn it, you know I can't meet that.”

He grinned. “Then … you fold?”

She tossed the cards. “Guess so... Hey! You didn't have shit!”

Laughing, he rolled off the bed. “Yes, but you folded, so I get the first shots.”

“Leave him breathing, Spike! Jet wants the payout, considering you didn't ask him.”

“Yah yah.” Spike leaned over Andy, watching him squirm in the bounds trying to scream through the gag. “We're just gonna have a little chat.” He pounded a fist into his palm. “Only my fists are gonna do the talkin'. Bad enough getting picked up. But that happening because of a pain in the ass little shit like you? Oh, there's no way I can let that slide. Right, tenderloin?”

Andy's eyes widened.

“And when I'm done … it's her turn. I'll save your _son of gun_ for her.”

Writhing on the floor in a fresh wave of panic, Andy attempted to crawl away like an inch worm, until Spike flipped him over with foot to his hip.

Faye ran a hand across Spike's shoulder. “Awww, you do care.”

He winked and eyed the petrified Andy. “Fair warning partner, you did ruin her fancy dinner.”

* * *

The ship sat anchored at a dock on Mars. Spike and Jet leaned over the soft glow of the shogi board sliding the pieces around, having made peace after Spike and Faye brought back every woolong from his undisclosed gamble. There wasn't a plan at the moment. Just the crew kicking back between gigs.

“Faye-Faye, come on! Follow Ed! Up up! Hurry”

Spike cocked his head as they came up the steps.

“What is it, Ed?” she muttered. “I was in the middle reading a good chapter.”

“Kissy kissy can wait.” She danced around racing toward the shogi table tugging the guys up from their seats. “Ed has something neat. Come look! Come look!”

Abandoning the haphazard game, the guys wandered over toward the cockpit. Ed pointed at the photograph of young Jet standing with his folks. “See, see?”

Faye shook her head. “Yes, we all saw that earlier, Ed. What about it?”

Ed fwipped a hand from behind her back and showed Faye. The color faded from her face. She reached forward, cupping a hand close to it but not quite touching.

“Ed?” Her voice whispered. “Where did you get this?”

She pointed downstairs. “When Faye-Faye was in the hot bath Ed jacked the beta tape and took a screen cap. Heee!”

Faye's eyes strung, the tears welled at the photo. A young girl in a school uniform sat on her father's lap smiling to the camera. Her mother had a hand on her shoulder. Clear as day. Her family back when life was simple and happy.

“And!” Ed wriggled with glee. “Look what Ed found on the net by using father-person's name!” From behind Faye's photo she pulled out another one. A snaggle-toothed red haired toddler held in her mother's arms amidst the ruins of Earth, with the arm of Ed's father wrapped around them both. “Ed's father and mother persons! Ed found them both! Ehehehe!” Eagerly she handed them to Jet. “Here, hang them up. _Bebop's_ family wall.”

They gathered around the photos pointing and laughing at themselves.

Spike edged backward, hands in his pockets fighting to banish the hurt from his eyes. The _Bebop_ family … but it was incomplete. They looked so damned happy. So happy it scorched him, but he didn't want to spoil it for them. This wasn't their problem. It was his. Silently, he wandered off the bridge haunted by their laughter.

Ed blurted out. “Almost forgot! For Spike-person … ” She held up a crayon drawing of stick figures. “Spike?” Her excitement faded as she searched the bridge. “Where did Spike-person go?”

SPLASH!

Faye heaved a sigh. “I think I know … I got this.”

Out on the flight deck, she found Spike standing in the evening glow of the sky beside a pile of collected rocks. He reached down, indiscriminately grabbed one, and gave it a hefty flick of his wrist. She knew by the motion he was trying to skip them. But too much force tripped the stone. It hit the water wrong and sunk with a bloop.

He exhaled in a huff and grabbed another, muttering under his breath.

“Spike.”

“What?” He threw the next one with even more force and less success. “Piece of shit!”

She held her arms. “What's wrong?” She had a feeling she knew, but she hoped he would say it.

“Nothing. I'm fine!” Another blooper.

When his hand went back for the next throw, her hand covered his. She met his gaze. “Ed wasn't trying to be cruel. She didn't know. In fact, if you'd waited you would have seen, she made something for you.”

He tore his hand from her grasp and turned away. But it wasn't fast enough. She had glimpsed the glistening in the corner of his real eye. “It's not important. Who the hell cares?”

It couldn't be more obvious. Spike put as much force as he could muster in the next throw sending the stone far out until the darkening waters claimed it. He bowed his head and clenched his teeth. “They're long gone.”

Her hand rested on his shoulder. “And you can't remember them.”

He turned his head away further, a betraying twitch in his jaw muscles.

“Remind me, how old were you?”

“Six.”

“You're too hard on yourself, Spike. Most young kids don't remember much of anything. You're hardly superhuman.”

He rounded on her. “They gave me life. We'd been a family, there'd been a future. I wasn't supposed to end up a criminal, Faye. I remember that much. But I can't … I can't …” he shook his head, “I can't remember their faces. They were real, they existed … but they're gone. Nameless, faceless.”

Faye took a deep breath and planted a hand firmly on each of his shoulders. “I know what it's like to not be able to remember. It's a terrible void. But you know what I learned?”

He stared at her with a turbulent gaze.

“The more I tried to force myself to remember, the less I was able to. It came to me on its own. Spike, you were a traumatized little boy, you probably blocked it out so you could move on.”

He extracted himself from her grip and turned back to the stone pile, picking one up and white-knuckling it. “I was an idiot for doing that! I want it back! I never should have done that! They were real, they were part of my life! Damn it, Faye, they were the only true family I ever had!” His words came at a faster and faster clip. “It's inside, somewhere. I know it is … I just can't … just can't reach them.”

“I understand.” Faye reached out and gently grasped his clenched hand. “They come back when we let them go … ” Her fingers massaged against the knot of his fist. “This takes time and the more you push for it, the further the memories bury themselves.”

Gradually the fingers relaxed and the rock fell into her grip. More lost than ever, Spike sunk down on the edge of the flight deck staring down at the rippling water.

Faye joined him, playing with the rock in her hands. “When someone thrashes, the water conceals everything below it.” She released the stone and watched the circles obliterate their reflections. “When someone remains calm, all concealed within the depths become clear.” Though the bay's water would never be truly calm, it did settle enough to identify themselves.

Spike blinked slowly. His eyes narrowed a bit. “Wait … that's from … ”

She nodded. “I know I shouldn't have been borrowing your books without asking. But .. ”

He studied her long and hard. “You remembered.”

Reaching up, Faye ran a hand through his hair. “Stop thrashing, Spike. You're not drowning. You just think you are.”

He looked up at the stars in the clear night sky. The telescope, a hopeful promise … and a father he could barely remember. He hoped Faye was right as he took a long breath and let it out slowly. He dearly wanted her to be right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this crazy train ride and will join me for the next. Starting in "Alley Cat Shuffle" and into this one I began seeding the groundwork for "Diving Deep Into the Night", a story that will likely prove to be the darkest of all my Cowboy Bebop fics.


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